Whispers of Children
by CharlieGast
Summary: Allies of Darkness are responsible for the theft of a crucial celestial element, leaving Heaven crippled. Team Free Will must embark on a journey to restore Heaven's defenses with the help of an unexpected and powerful guest.
1. Chapter 1: Born in a Crossfire Hurricane

The shrill scream of a witch was nothing new to the Winchesters, particularly when they were the cause of the scream.

Sam watched as the woman writhed and howled at the tip of his white birch stake, disintegrating to ash and ember before him; but he didn't have time to stop and think about the kill he had just made. With the end of the witch's shriek, the sounds of fighting were evident.

Dean's body slammed into the wall of the abandoned home, the shelves rattling and falling from their supports, clattering to the ground. Castiel dodged a ball of fire, dilapidated curtains catching flame.

"Where is it?" he demanded, angel blade at the ready.

"Not here," the woman chuckled with a sing-song tone. "We don't have your precious 'Weapon of Heaven'. Your source must be … _misinformed_ ," she teased.

Dean pushed himself from the floor, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "So you don't know where it is."

"Not a clue," she cooed.

"Great. Which means you're just as good to us alive as you are dead."

The sickening, wet crunch briefly precluded the witch's surprised expression as she looked down to find the point of Sam's stake protruding from her chest, soaked in her own blood. "Bastards," she whispered as she crumpled into heated dust.

"Any more of 'em?" he asked as he warily searched the area.

"One more, I believe," Castiel replied with a concentrated crease to his brow as he scanned the room.

"You know, it would be really helpful if Hannah would tell us just what we're looking for," the hunter grumbled. "Just saying one of your weapons was stolen doesn't exactly make the search any easier. I mean, we could be looking for the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch for all we know."

"We do not have a holy hand gre—" Castiel caught himself as he turned his confused squint to Dean.

"Oooohhhh, what you're looking for is much better than some measly hand grenade," teased a tall woman from the door, the hem of her long velvet dress a trail of navy behind her.

Brandishing his stake, Sam demanded, "Tell us where it is!"

"Why? If I tell you, you'll kill me. If I don't tell you, you'll kill me. I fail to see some incentive here," she answered with nonchalance, her heels clacking the floor as she took two elegant steps forward, pausing only when she saw all three men readying their stakes of birch. "This hardly seems fair."

"Give it back."

"Or what?"

"She's obviously not gonna talk," Dean growled as he lunged forward, to be thwarted by the sudden disappearance of the woman, her laughter echoing throughout the room.

"It doesn't matter," she taunted melodiously as she reappeared to their left. "You're too late."

"Too late?" Castiel asked as Dean regained his footing and scowled at the woman.

"Your precious Heaven?" she continued as she vanished again, only to appear again behind Sam. "It's doomed. All of it." Dagger in her hand, she swung at the tall hunter who managed to turn in time to counter the blade with his stake. Again, she vanished.

"And you are doomed!" her voice cackled. "You are all doo—"

Dean's machete sliced through her neck as she reappeared for the last time, the witch's head falling from her shoulders to roll across the floor, her body crumpling soon after.

"That was rude," she spat.

"Don't be cute," the hunter growled as he grabbed a handful of her blood-stained golden hair to hold her face in front of him, his brother joining Dean at his side. "I hate bitches who try to be cute."

"Last chance," Sam insisted as the wooden stake hovered over her left breast. "Give us the weapon."

"I don't have it," she answered with a crisp bite to her tone.

"Then where is it?" Dean grilled.

"Right where it belongs," she sneered. "Away from _you_."

"Sam."

At his brother's word, the younger hunter stabbed the woman's heart, her body crumbling away. Dusting off his hands with a frown, Dean looked over to the angel. "Cas?"

But Castiel's expression was not one of contemplation or even disappointment. No, the angel had a look of worry as he glanced upward.

"Cas, what is it?" Sam asked as he stood.

But the angel said nothing as his expression faded from concern to panic; he looked to the Winchesters with eyes that could only be described as _**horrified**_.

"… Cas?"

...

...

...

The chanting was a roar, hundreds of robed individuals stood shoulder to shoulder in rings upon rings surrounding a stone table illuminated by the golden light of numerous golden torches. Beside the table stood three men in robes, the closest holding a white, silken material within his hands. Beneath the hoods of all present, eyes were covered by similar cloth.

Upon the table lie a woman covered by a golden sheet; long locks of chestnut hair concealed her face, clashing with a single streak of silver within its tresses. Her wrists and ankles were bound by chains to the corners of the table.

Voices grew louder in unison, led by a man in a cloak of emerald, a broad smile on his face as the chanting rose in volume and intensity. Those in the surrounding rings lifted an identical ceremonial dagger to his or her neck, and as the air continued to resonate with the final word of the chant, each blade sliced into its holder's throat. Hundreds of bodies slumped to the ground with resounding thuds.

Darkness surrounded the four remaining, no sounds but their exhausted breaths and the crackling of flame … that is, until the rush of a loud ring filled their ears, the earth rumbling beneath their feet. Their screams of pain were quickly drowned within the ringing as it grew into an unbearable roar, blood trickling from their ears. The light soon followed—blinding and white—as the wind gusted around them.

"NOW! _**DO IT NOW**_!" screamed the man in green, one of the others knocking over a torch. Immediately, a ring of holy fire ignited around them, encircling the stone table and those surrounding it. The light faded instantly, as did the deafening noise.

The robe of white was quickly cast over the chained woman, the man removing his hood and the sash covering his eyes to reveal their smoldering holes, burned away by holy light despite the protection.

"Darkness shall reign," he whispered before slicing his own throat.

His body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Only the man in the emerald cloak remained, removing the sash from his eyes to reveal a gaze of pure black as he stared at the unconscious woman upon the table.

Her fingers twitched.

 _To be continued._

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Thank you for reading the first chapter of my first fic ever. I'm still new to this site so please bear with me as I become more familiar with its ins and outs. Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2: For Whom the Bell Tolls

"It worked," the man in green whispered as he watched his captive's fingers twitch again. "You're mine now." He rushed to her side, but she did not move again. "So much power," he cooed as he touched her hair adoringly. "So much **power** , in such a small space …"

Her fingers moved again.

"Ohhh, you're not going _anywhere_ ," he reiterated with a malicious smirk. "Those chains are engraved with Enochian sigils. There's no escaping them—"

But he was silenced when the woman's left arm suddenly jerked, the chains clinking and rattling with the force. Confident they would hold, he relaxed and chuckled. "So strong, but so _powerless_ ," he taunted.

Again, the chains jarred weakly. He laughed. "We have use for you."

The third yank of the chain pulled its bolt free of the table, stone shattering at its end.

"What—" he panicked.

The other arm jerked again, ripping the metal from the rock.

"This isn't **possible**!" he protested, staring wide-eyed at the woman, her face hidden by tangled locks. "The sigils! _Why aren't they working?!_ "

Both ankles were freed as the woman staggered onto her knees.

"You can't do that! You **can't**! **_NO_**!"

The man was silenced as he suddenly tripped over his own robes, cracking his skull on the edge of the stone table and killing him instantly. The woman was unfazed as she rolled weakly off the platform, falling to the ground in a weak heap.

It took several minutes for her to muster the strength to rise to her knees again, arms limply rising to give the stone table one mighty shove which caused it to fall over the fire, knocking a space within the flame. She clawed at the ground in an attempt to slowly crawl to freedom, but despite the desperate digging of her nails into the dirt, she was too weak to pull herself forward …

...

...

...

"Cas!" Dean called out in concern at seeing the look of sheer terror in his friend's eyes.

"I can't hear them," he whispered, petrified.

"Can't hear them? Hear who?"

" _Everyone_ ," he explained with a slow monotone, mechanical, as though in a trance of fear. "Angels. Humans. I can't hear them."

"What? You mean, like, static on the Angel Radio?"

"No. Static would imply there is something there. This … this is silence. Pure ... _silence_."

"Someone pulled the plug on the tower?"

"No ... _the tower is gone_."

"What?"

Castiel vanished.

"Cas?!" Dean shouted. " **CAS**!" Panicked, he looked to his brother. "Okay, what just happened?"

"I don't know," Sam said, shaking his head as he started toward the exit, rushing outside and looking around.

"Dude. If Cas is freaked out, then this is definitely bad."

"The witch said we were too late. What if this is what she meant? What if the weapon was something that took down the angel's line of communication?"

Following Sam to the Impala, Dean tossed his stake into the backseat. "This is bad news. No Soul Phone, no Heavenly Backup."

The familiar sound of Castiel's trench coat rustled nearby.

"Cas!" Dean started as he saw the alarm on his friend's face. "Hey. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Selaphiel is gone," the angel explained.

"Who's Selaphiel?" Sam asked.

"The Archangel of Prayer. Selaphiel is how we are able to communicate with mortals and with each other. And now he is gone. All lines of communication have been severed. Heaven is in Chaos."

"Cas … you okay?" Dean asked carefully, noting the look of distress on his friend's usually calm face.

"No," the angel replied honestly. "Selaphiel has always been there. **Always**. In times of war, times of peace, everywhere in between. He has always served as that open line of communication. Even when I was human, despite the turmoil in Heaven, he kept the lines open among the fallen, delivered my prayers to Muriel. He has always … _always_ been there. Now he is gone and we cannot hear the prayers of mortals, let alone each other."

The Winchesters exchanged worried glances. This was very, very bad.

"That's a bold and clever tactic," Dean remarked. "Taking out the enemy's method of communication."

"This was a diversion," Castiel added.

"Makes sense. Heaven's so focused on finding this weapon that they didn't realize something would happen to their chief communications officer."

"He's an Archangel, Dean. Selaphiel is perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

"Except when he's not," Dean quipped, which warranted a scowl from the angel.

"Dean," Sam interjected with a light warning to his tone to indicate that now was not the time. "So where could he be, Cas? He's not …"

"He can't be dead. We would feel it," Castiel insisted as he glanced around, as though looking to the air and sky would suddenly make him able to hear his brothers again. "I can't sense him _anywhere_."

"Okay, so what do we do?" Dean asked.

The angel suddenly looked to the brothers with determination. " **Pray**."

After a beat, Dean scoffed with disbelief … then settled with a scrunched brow. "You're serious?"

"Dean," Sam protested. "Selaphiel is the _Angel_ of **Prayer** , right? It makes sense. If we pray, he should hear us."

"And if he doesn't? I mean, what if he can't?"

"Then we can scratch that off the list of possible solutions? I guess? Couldn't hurt to try?"

Straightening his posture, Sam closed his eyes and lifted his hands to his sides as he attempted to concentrate. "Uhm, let's see … dear Heavenly … Commander?"

"General," Castiel corrected quickly.

" _General_. Right," the hunter repeated as he regained focus. "Dear Heavenly General Selaphiel … uh … hi?" This was proving to be as awkward as it was difficult; Sam wasn't exactly sure what to say. "It's me. Sam Winchester? Uhm … we've never actually spoken before and, uh, well, I guess we have technically spoken before, but not directly, I mean, I've never spoken to you directly, I think, but uh … thanks for delivering all the messages in the past … I just …" He cleared his throat nervously.

Dean opened his eyes a slit to watch his brother.

"Where are you? We kinda need you and Cas is obviously freaking out over here, so if you can hear me, just, uhm, give us a sign? Let us know where you are? If you're okay?"

 _Silence._

Castiel's eyes continued to scan the air for a sign, focused more upon the sky as though dreading the sight of a falling star.

The brazen **gong** of a church bell pierced the still night air.

Immediately, the trio looked at each other; scarcely even a second passed until they rushed toward the source barely a block away.

Within the bell tower of a small church, the bell continued to vibrate with its sound, gradually swinging to a stop over the body of a woman who wore a single silver streak within her chestnut hair. The figure was upon her knees, hear head upon the floor as the white cloak billowed around her, embroidered with golden Enochian sigils, its hem still smoldering as though she had passed through fire, the smoke rising and lingering as ghostly grey tendrils in the air.

Castiel froze several feet away, both fear and relief in his expression as the woman's head gradually turned toward them, loose locks of hair falling from her face.

Her eyes opened. Ocean grey eyes of pain, anger, sorrow and … power.

Castiel stood noticeably straighter, a soldier standing at attention as he whispered the name.

"Selaphiel."

 _To be continued ..._


	3. Chapter 3: Don't Make Me Pull Over!

The bell's ring had stopped, silence falling over the tower, yet the name of the archangel continued to linger.

" _ **That**_ 's Selaphiel?" Dean finally asked. The woman on the floor blinked only once in response. Castiel seemed just as dumbfounded as the Winchesters.

"Yes," he acknowledged. His posture was rigid; it was clear he held respect for the celestial being before them, but something was obviously wrong. Something that Sam could see in his friend's expression immediately.

"Selaphiel?" Sam confirmed, directing his attention to the woman. Another blink filled the silence, the faintest twitch of her fingers.

"Sam …" Dean warned as he watched his brother approach the immobile figure.

"Are you hurt?" the younger Winchester asked; the only response he received was a shift in her gaze, directing toward him.

"Sam!" Dean warned again, taking a protective step forward.

But Sam was distracted as he knelt at the woman's side. His head tilted to the right curiously as his brow furrowed. Those eyes … something about them—they held a subtle glow; each optic nerve within those irises illuminated with a swirling iridescence. It was both captivating and frightening, unsettling, and he had to look away. "What's wrong with her? Him?" Sam corrected himself as he turned his head to Castiel.

"He's never had a vessel before. He's … adjusting."

" _Adjusting_?" Dean asked.

"He's an all-powerful, multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent confined to a mortal body for the first time in his existence. It takes a moment," Castiel explained bluntly.

"Well, shouldn't you go over there and help him, then?"

"I … can't." The angel's tone was laced with a hoarse apology as he kept his gaze upon his confined superior, brow creased with worry.

"What do you mean you _can't_?"

"His cloak is embroidered with Enochian warding sigils. This is the closest I can get."

Sam glanced between the two angels. "Well, that explains why you and the others couldn't find him. Someone was clearly trying to hide Selaphiel from you guys." His hand lifted and motioned to Castiel. "Hey, Cas, gimme your coat. I got an idea."

Castiel wasted no time with shedding his coat and tossing it to the younger hunter who made quick work of removing and discarding the embroidered cloak. "Head's up," he said as he pitched it to his brother, Dean catching the fabric easily and beginning to study it as Sam took to assisting Selaphiel into the trench coat. With the sigils out of the way, Castiel could move again and immediately went to assist. Both attempted to assist Selaphiel to his feet, but the body remained limp, as the archangel seemed unable to bear weight.

"Whoever made this thing put a lot of care into it," Dean announced as he looked over the material in his hands. "I mean, there's even tiny sigils in the lining."

"So what do we do now?" Sam asked. "Can you take him back to Heaven?"

Selaphiel's gaze shifted beneath the veil of hair, stare settling intently on Castiel … who fell deathly silent, unable to look away as his brows lifted in realization.

Watching the exchange between the two, Dean made the connection. "You know, Sel's an all-powerful archangel. If he could go back to Heaven, then it probably would have been the first thing he'd done."

"Yes," Castiel finally acknowledged, attention still transfixed on the celestial general. "And if all of this had been created as an elaborate distraction to trap him in a vessel, then perhaps Heaven may be the **last** place he should go."

"So she— **he** , sorry—needs a safe place to stay until we get this settled. Bunker then?"

"Guys," Sam interrupted. "I think he's seizing." All three turned their attention to the woman's body as it began to convulse, eyes rolling back.

"He's trying to get out," Castiel explained as he tightened his grip on the body. "He can't get out."

"He's _**trapped**_ in there?" Dean asked.

"Something's keeping him locked inside. It's like he's overloading," Castiel replied.

A ragged breath escaped the woman's lips just before the body slumped, limp and unconscious.

"Whoa! WHOA!" Sam shouted as he assisted his friend in catching her. "We gotta get outta here. Remember? That witch said her sister was coming. **We have to move**."

…

…

…

The road was empty and dark, slick with the rain of a recent shower, illuminated briefly by the headlights of the Impala as its engine resonated throughout the foothills. Occasionally, Dean caught himself glancing to his brother beside him, then to the rearview mirror to watch Castiel in the backseat. The angel wore a perplexed expression as he held the unconscious Selaphiel's head in his lap, hand resting upon the vessel's brow.

"So help me, Cas, if he busts out of that body and tears up my car, I'm gonna be _really_ pissed," Dean warned as they rounded a curve and fell quiet as he realized his friend didn't offer a rebuttal, no reaction at all. The fact that Castiel appeared constantly worried in turn made Dean feel uneasy. "Back there, when you said he 'overloaded' ... what did you mean?"

"He's like a caged animal," Castiel explained, not taking his eyes from the unconscious angel. "That is … a _lot_ of power to be trapped in a body of flesh for the first time. He's fighting against the cage."

"Part of that 'adjustment period' you were talking about?"

"Yes."

Sam glanced over his shoulder to his friend. "Cas, I … I don't get it. I mean, Lucifer and Michael … if they weren't in their 'true vessels', then their power would burn away the flesh, right? How is **this** body able to remain stable?"

"This body was created specifically for the purpose of being inhabited by Selaphiel … and to keep him confined." His jaw clenched as his hands moved to press to the woman's temples. "I sense Enochian sigils have been engraved on her bones."

Dean winced at the thought as Castiel continued.

"Some are sigils of warding, much like yours … but others are sigils of entrapment."

"Someone _carved_ sigils into this poor woman's bones to trap an archangel? Fantastic," Dean grumbled, clearly irritated by this information. "I thought only angels could do that."

"No … this is different," Castiel protested with a subtle shake of his head. "This body is a homunculus."

"A what?"

"A homunculus," Sam explained. "Living bodies created by ancient alchemists. Some used the homunculi as a form of immortality, to transfer their own souls into a new body."

"Downloading souls Johnny-Depp-Transcendence-style? Great."

"But Cas," Sam diverted. "I thought the homunculi were, like, tiny. This one is full-sized."

"Selaphiel's true form is twice the size of Mount McKinley. They were ... compensating," the angel explained. "And still, it is not enough."

"Sounds like someone seriously thought this out," Dean commented.

"Yeah," Sam agreed as he faced the road again. "Whoever did this has obviously been planning it for a while. And had … celestial help."

"Maybe he had it comin'," Dean interjected.

"Dean!" Sam chided.

"What?" he protested, lifting his fingers from the steering wheel in a light shrug. "I'm just pointing out the obvious here that every archangel we've met so far has been a real dick. I mean, think about it. Metatron? Raphael? Michael. Lucifer—"

"Gabriel was decent," Sam argued blandly.

" **Gabriel** didn't _kill you_ a hundred times," Dean snipped.

"Selaphiel is different," Castiel assured them.

"And what makes you so sure, Cas?" the driver asked, glancing to his friend's worried expression in the mirror. "I mean, no offense, but your big bro's haven't exactly been the friendliest."

Castiel lifted his head, giving his friend a very firm look. "I just know, Dean."

The hunter surrendered with a sigh as he saw the distraught in the angel's eyes, no matter how hard Castiel was trying to remain calm. Dean knew that look; it was the same look he had when he was worried about his own brother.

"Fair enough," Dean agreed.

"We need to get these chains off him," Castiel said, changing the subject as his attention redirected to the unconscious archangel. "It won't do much, but every little bit helps."

"Keep trying to wake him, okay, Cas?" Sam suggested. "We need him to tell us who—"

"SHIT!" Dean hissed through his teeth as they rounded a curve, swerving to the side of the road to avoid a fallen tree, blocking their path on the highway.

Standing before the fallen tree was a woman in a dark velvet cloak and glowing eyes of golden fire.

Dean grumbled as he put the car in park. "I hate witches."

 _To be continued ..._


	4. Chapter 4: Fire in the Sky

"Still got your stake, Sam?" Dean asked, keeping his eye on the witch blocking their path.

"Right here."

"Okay. Cas?" Dean turned to his friend in the back seat. "Stay here. These witches are obviously after Sel, so best not to leave him unprotected." The angel nodded once in compliance.

After exchanging glances, the Winchesters exited the vehicle, closing the doors behind them. Quietly, Castiel remarked to the unconscious archangel. "You know ... **now** would be a very good time for you to wake up."

Sam and Dean cautiously stepped onto the asphalt, sharpened wood gripped tightly within their fingers as they eyed the woman with determination. "Okay, so we kill this bitch and then what," Dean muttered to his brother, stopping him with a hand to the hunter's arm. "You really think taking Sleeping Beauty back with us is smart?"

"You got any better ideas?"

"Just sayin' our track record with archangels isn't the most stellar …" he suggested.

"Dude," Sam whispered as he ducked his head a bit closer. "Cas says he's different."

"That doesn't mean jack squat."

"No, Dean, listen. You saw how he reacted to Sel back there. It is different. I mean, you've seen him around the others-Michael, Raphael, Metatron-he was scared. True, yeah, he'd try to hide it, but he was obviously scared. He's not _scared_ around Sel."

"He's also been through a **lot** since then. You know, commander of God's Army."

"Dean-"

"Look, I'm not makin' excuses, okay? I just got a really bad feeling."

"You girls gonna gossip all night, or are we going to get this started?" the witch called over to them, palm raised with sparks flickering from her fingertips.

"Oh, trust me, sweetheart," Dean scowled at the witch as he refocused his attention on the impending fight. "We were just stalling for time. Thought you might like a minute to make peace with your maker … or … whatever."

"Touching," she replied with a monotone of disbelief. "You boys have something that doesn't belong to you. Give it back."

"And if we don't?" Sam asked confidently, posture straightening with his defiance.

"I fry you."

"And," Dean interjected, "hypothetically speaking, we give it back? Then what?"

"I fry you," she concurred with a sing-song tone and a nod.

"Fan **tas** tic."

The Winchesters exchanged glances for a single beat before turning away from each other and taking several steps in opposite directions, keeping their focus on the witch.

"I'll take this as a 'no' from the both of you," she replied coldly, her eyes narrowing from annoyance.

"Lady, you need to work on your negotiating skills," Sam commented dryly.

With a snarl, she lifted her arms to the sky. Wind strengthened, rustling the leaves and branches around them, the flowing fabric of her long sleeves flapping in the air as her hair whipped behind her. Clouds formed and grew in height and girth, lightning flashes illuminating the waves as they slowly began to swirl amid rumbling thunder.

"I'm done playing," she sneered as her eyes rolled into a white gloss.

"Demon witch? Seriously?" Dean huffed with irritation, but the woman was unimpressed, her head snapping in the direction of the Impala as her right hand jerked toward it. The car jarred from the sudden gust of wind that knocked it three feet. "Oh HELL no! Don't you frickin' touch my car."

"Shut up," the witch snapped just before a bolt shot from the sky above, striking the ground at Dean's feet and propelling the hunter several feet back, his stake falling far out of his reach.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted as his brother's body lay still on the asphalt. Never before had he hated a woman's chuckle as much as this one.

"Pathetic. I thought the famous Winchesters would be more of a challenge."

Growling, Sam glared at her as drops of rain began their slow descent from the sky. "You know, for such a powerful bitch, you sure seem bent on getting this weapon. Why do you even need it?"

"Pfft, who said it's for me?" she cackled as she pushed her hands forward, another gale force wind knocking the hunter into the line of trees. Sam grunted from pain as he felt the impact on his spine. Uninterested, the woman redirected her attention to the Impala, meeting the blue eyes of the angel within, eyes that narrowed in determination.

"Be right back," Castiel quietly announced to the unconscious general just prior to vanishing; he reappeared less than a beat later, standing sentry before the door of the car, tie tossed over the shoulder by the gusts shuddering the landscape around them. He ignored the flying debris, the leaves and branches that littered the air at injuring speeds.

"You must be Castiel," the witch cooed with a small smirk twitching at her coral lips. But the angel said nothing, much to her chagrin; he did not offer her a clever quip or even the slightest retort. "What? No snappy comeback? How disappointing."

Castiel kept his gaze upon her as he moved away from the car, resting his fingers to Dean's brow to awaken him.

"That's cheating," she scoffed as the hunter suddenly gasped for air, regaining consciousness as he was healed. "What? Don't like it when somebody else plays with your toys?" she taunted with a playful pout. "Did I hurt your _pwecious_ widdle feelwings?"

His angel blade slid from his sleeve and into his grasp.

"Nice pointy stick, kid, but it's the wrong kind!" the witch teased as her hands moved before her, ready to strike again, only to witness the angel vanish once more. Huffing from annoyance, she nearly didn't notice Sam rushing at her from the left. Immediately, she jerked her arm toward him, and the hunter barely managed to maneuver from her path before another bolt of lightning struck the ground; he could still feel the tingle in the air from the near-hit, his heart nearly stopping with the closeness of it all. Thankfully, he had caused enough of a diversion for Castiel to make his move, appearing suddenly in front of her as he thrust his blade through her ribcage.

The witch shrieked, a piercing sound echoed by the thunder around them … and then dissolving into shrill laughter as she wiggled on his blade, dancing from side to side as though she felt nothing at all.

"You're cute," she cooed in amusement as she pat his left cheek, delighting in his worried expression. "But stupid," she added with a hiss as her fingers spread over his face and suddenly pushed his head back, propelling his body back to the fallen hunters and shifting her attention to the Impala once more as she approached it …

"Oh no you don't," Dean growled as he quickly pushed himself up from the slick asphalt, rushing toward her as Castiel rolled to his feet.

"I am so done with you," she spat as she spun to face them, grabbing Dean by the shoulders and throwing him easily to the other side of the road beside his brother. Castiel then grabbed her from behind, attempting to hold her in place, away from the cargo. "I admire your persistence, but you're really not my type," she quipped as she struggled against him and suddenly jerked forward, pulling her with him and slamming the angel to the ground.

As the Winchesters attempted to run to her again, the witch stood upright once more and another bolt of lightning struck the ground between them. "DO NOT!" she roared. "YOU ARE **WASTING** MY TIME! YOU **INSIGNIFICANT** SACKS OF-"

She was silenced as the point of a wooden stake pierced the back of her neck to exit between her teeth, choking on the birch weapon prying her jaw at an awkward angle; her white eyes wide, she slowly turned to face her unseen attacker.

Though the trench coat was familiar, it was not worn by its usual bearer. Selaphiel stood, rain-soaked and pale, but with a determination in her glowing eyes. She was angry. And for a brief moment, the Winchesters could have sworn they saw an unnatural phenomenon; the lightning above rolled through the clouds behind and above the archangel in a pattern that almost appeared to be in the shape of not two, but _**six**_ wings …

The witch gurgled in terror, unable to breathe, unable to function for any good to herself other than pure fear at the woman standing before her, the archangel cupping the witch's face within her pale fingers as their enemy's eyes and mouth burned with the light of the Holy General's smiting. And it was that moment Selaphiel spoke, her voice quiet and gentle alto, calm and resonating with power.

" _Surprise, bitch."_

The witch faded into dust.

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 5:_ _ **She's So Heavy** }}_


	5. Chapter 5: She's So Heavy

Flecks of ash and dust stuck to damp fingertips as the witch's body disintegrated in the archangel's hands. The hunters stared dumbfounded at the woman in the trench coat, briefly forgetting how to move or breathe as they watched her lower her palms before her, reaching them before her form, turned to the sky. The rain slowed, drops falling upon her upturned hands, washing away the remnants of the witch's remains. Her eyes were distant, as though completely captivated by the sensation of rain upon her skin.

Castiel was the one to break the silence between them as the wind stilled; he pushed himself to his feet, straightening his drenched suit jacket and tie as he watched the archangel slowly turn her gaze to the sky.

The rain stopped.

And for a brief moment, she actually seemed disappointed. Disappointed that the rain had ceased to fall? Perhaps. Her gaze remained upon the sky as dripping fingers suddenly twitched outward. The tree that had fallen onto the road obeyed the silent command, immediately and quickly pushed out of the way by an unseen force, moved harmlessly to the embankment away from the highway and no longer posing a danger to any motorists who would travel such a winding road so late at night.

"Selaphiel?" Castiel finally managed to say as he stood a bit taller.

The archangel turned her attention away from the chains still swaying from her wrists and instead focused upon her brother. A softness befell her features as she lowered her arms to her side and greeted quietly. " _Hello, brother."_

Castiel made no attempt to conceal the relief as it faded onto his face in the form of a warm smile, a genuinely warm smile. "Are you all right?"

Her eyes lowered to the ground, head bending forward a bit as she confessed slowly, her voice never rising above a gentle murmur. " _I feel … heavy?"_

"Yes," Castiel acknowledged with a nod. "That would be the gravity."

" _Ah …"_ she replied with a subtle frown. " _Always such a downer."_

Sam snorted. Dean shifted his gaze to his brother with an incredulous look. "What?" asked the younger hunter. "It was funny." Shaking his head, Dean stood along with his brother, moving to Castiel's side.

Selaphiel's distant stare shifted to the Winchesters for a silent beat. " _Hello, Sam,"_ she greeted softly. " _Hello, Dean."_

Dean replied with an awkward wave of his hand, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he whispered a "yeah hi" under his breath; but Sam was the one to approach her, hand offered in greeting. It was clear that Castiel thought highly of the archangel, and if Cas approved, then she must have been friendly … right?

"It's an honor to meet you, Selaphiel," he announced.

But Selaphiel did not hesitate to grasp the hunter's hand with both of hers, keeping eye contact as her fingers gripped his tightly, prompting a wince upon his face as he could nearly feel his bones crushing within the vice of her grasp. " _I apologize for the mess,"_ she said as she released him and dropped her arms limply to her sides. " _My hands have been sullied by the ashes of our enemy."_

His hand freed from her hold, Sam shook it a bit just to get the feeling back in his fingers, assuring her, "No no, it's fine. Happens all the time." He gave Dean a look over his shoulder then, eyes widening to demonstrate just how painfully strong her handshake had been, mouthing the words 'oh my god' to his brother. "That's some grip you've got there," he added as he returned his attention to Selaphiel.

"Look, uh, Sel?" Dean interrupted, warranting a shift in the archangel's attention as she wandered toward the Impala. "Any idea who did this? I mean? Do you know who put you in, you know, that?"

" _No,"_ she replied simply as she gripped the hood of the car, easily pushing it from the embankment and onto the asphalt once more, warranting a low and impressed whistle from Sam.

"Uh … thanks," Dean added as the Impala was straightened upon the asphalt, not daring to take his eyes off the archangel as she rounded the vehicle to face the trio once more. He knew better than to be impressed-not so much by the strength she possessed, but more so over the fact that she had been considerate enough to help them out. "Do you remember anything?" he asked, changing the subject back to the mystery surrounding their circumstances.

Selaphiel fell silent as her gaze lowered once more, focus turned to the chains about her wrists as she slowly and carefully lifted them before her, not protesting the fact that Castiel was cautiously approaching. " _I was … everywhere …"_ she began softly, " _... and now I am … in here … and I feel ..."_ She seemed to search for the world, but it seemed the more she thought, the subtle illumination of her irises had the slightest swirl within them, and expression reflecting something that could only be described as … broken.

 **Melancholy**.

She drew a sharp and jagged breath as she was unable to process just what it was she felt. Her body needed to only sway the slightest inch and Castiel was immediately reaching out to catch her, his arm hooking beneath hers for support amid a chorus of Sam's "whoa-whoa's" as he attempted to assist them.

"We better get him to the bunker and get those chains off," Sam suggested.

" _Castiel,"_ Selaphiel whispered, lifting her head heavily to rest her brow tiredly to his and staring intently into his eyes.

"Yes?" he whispered back, listening.

" _Go to Heaven,"_ she instructed. " _Tell Hannah to delegate communications to Ingrid for emergency protocol."_

"Yes, sir," Castiel replied without a moment's hesitation.

" _Do not tell them where I am. Do not tell anyone. Do you understand?"_

With a single nod of acknowledgment and a look of admiration, Castiel vanished without a trace. Sam was barely able to catch Selaphiel before she fell to the ground. "Selaphiel? Hey … hey!" He gave her a light shake; however, the archangel only blinked once, distant eyes directed toward the hunter though they didn't seem able to see him.

"Okay. What the **hell** just happened?" came Dean's sudden outburst.

"I don't know," his brother answered, keeping his gaze locked on Selaphiel. "He just kinda … zoned out."

"C'mon," Dean said, motioning him to the Impala as he opened the passenger-side door. He continued to speak as Sam helped the archangel into the backseat. "Maybe it's like a shock to his system … or … whatever it is angels have. First time with a body instead of some kinda energy … thing … or whatever. Yeah, okay, maybe he's still … 'adjusting' or whatever Cas called it."

"Who or what possesses that kind of power, though, Dean?" he asked as he shifted her legs into the car. "I mean, not to just create a living being, but also to devise this whole plan of stealing a weapon that is apparently so powerful that the _whole of Heaven_ is distracted enough to kidnap an _archangel_ AND trap him inside a vessel?" This was distressing and confusing and … deliberately elaborate.

"I don't know. But whatever or whoever it is? I'm gonna kill 'em."

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 6:_ _ **Just Like a War-time Novelty**_ _}}_


	6. Chapter 6: Just Like a War-time Novelty

Sam sat in the bunker library slowly turning the cuff of a cast iron shackle in his fingers, studying the engraved markings closely through the magnified lens; now and then, he glanced over to Selaphiel who sat silently in a nearby leather chair, her legs folded in front of her as though in meditation, bare toes curling and straightening on occasion. Flannel and jeans seemed to be the wardrobe available to the archangel, who did not seem to mind that the borrowed clothing was two sizes too big … no, she seemed more focused on the silver lock of hair she twirled within her grasp, staring with an intent and studious expression. Sam found that mildly amusing, that an all-powerful being could be captivated by something so simple as a few strands of hair, but at least it was keeping her occupied. Shaking his head, he smirked a bit and returned his attention to the chain itself; each link had multiple tiny sigils engraved upon them. Someone had taken great care with the creation of Selaphiel's restraints.

"Okay. The Cloak of Invisibility is safely in storage," Dean announced as he entered the library, setting a mug of coffee on the table near his brother while nursing his own. Lifting his cup to take a drink, his eyes became distracted by the angel in the chair, so he lowered his coffee with a curious look. "... barefoot?" he asked as he turned his confused expression to Sam.

"Yeah," the hunter replied with a mildly amused tone as he glanced up from the chain. "It seems _'the **unbearable lightness of being** is heavy enough without the added weight of socks or shoes'_ ," he teasingly recited before redirecting his attention to the metal once more, copying one of the unfamiliar sigils to his notepad.

"Parmenides? Really?"

Sam froze and looked to his brother with a furrowed brow. "Okay. The fact that you know who Parmenides is, just … I swear. It's like I don't know you anymore."

"What? I read."

 _"... this …"_ Selaphiel said suddenly, her voice soft and scarcely above a whisper, _"... is what the Nazarites were so worked up about?"_

Dean's attention returned to the archangel who still seemed captivated by the lock of hair in her hand. "What's the matter? Brown not your color?"

Unfazed, she continued, _"Samson certainly displayed due diligence in his faith by tolerating something so long and cumbersome."_

"That's what **she** said," Dean joked, prompting another smirk from his brother. After finally taking a drink, he moved around the edge of the table to get a closer look at the angel. "So … Sel," he started as he set the coffee aside, focusing on their celestial company. Her gaze slowly lifted from the strands to divert to the hunter and Dean could not help but be silent for a moment, as she seemed to look at him, but not see him … almost as though her eyes were out of focus. There was something unsettling about that, like she could see the person inside rather than the figure standing in front of her. And it sent a shiver down his spine. He had to change the subject. "Before you were zapped into this homunculus or whatever, did you see anything? Hear anything?"

 _"I hear everything,"_ she replied with quiet honesty.

"What?" Sam asked as he glanced over to them.

 _"The desperate cries of my brothers searching for me, others attempting to communicate with each other without answer, the prayers of humans, the wishes of everyone. I hear it all."_ That had not been an answer the Winchesters had expected; but then, they possibly should have, considering Castiel had always been so literal. But even with that bit of knowledge, this was a bit much. _"I just … cannot deliver the messages. It is … very frustrating."_

"Yeah," Sam concurred. "Sounds deafening."

Selaphiel paused a moment, the silence filled by a slow and definitive blink before her brows creased in confusion. _"Was that a pun?"_

Again, the hunter snorted as Dean redirected the questioning. "What I meant was did you notice anything, y'know, out of the ordinary before you got stuck in there?"

Finally, the angel's gaze lowered to the floor distantly, hands folding within her lap. _"No."_

"So you don't know if one of your weapons was actually stolen or not?"

But Selaphiel did not answer, holding an expression of calm as she remained still. "Selaphiel?" Sam asked as he set the chain down, standing to join his brother as Dean waved his hand in front of her face without so much as a blink from the angel.

"Earth to Sel?" Dean called out before snapping his fingers twice in front of her face.

"Did he zone out again?" Sam asked.

"Emergency channels are open," Castiel announced as he suddenly appeared, stepping into the library and moving toward the trio. Without a word, Selaphiel reached behind her to the trench coat draped over the back of her chair, lifting it toward her brother, which he took casually and put on as the conversation continued. "It took some convincing, but Ingrid begrudgingly agreed."

 _"Thank you,"_ the archangel whispered as she folded her hands in her lap once more, still staring distantly to the floor.

"Is that better?" Castiel asked with concern.

 _"Yes, thank you,"_ Selaphiel replied with the same softness as before. Dean arched his brow and scoffed.

"Huh."

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head as though to wave it off. "Oh, nothing. I'm just not used to hearing those words from the mouth of an archangel."

"What words?"

" **'Thank you'** ," he announced with a sarcastic smile. "You know. Words of _gratitude_. Nice to see an angel with some humility." This comment warranted a response from the angels who in turn looked to the hunter with identical confused expressions and synchronized tilts of their heads. The resemblance was uncanny, but Castiel broke the silence by redirecting his attention to Selaphiel.

"I spoke with Hannah. She discovered which of our weapons was stolen."

"And?" Sam asked as Castiel looked to him.

"Selaphiel's staff is missing."

"Like … the Staff of Moses?"

"We're looking for a stick?" Dean added.

"Pointy stick," Castiel corrected.

"We're looking for a **pointy** stick," Sam confirmed with a nod.

"Closer to what you would call a ' _lance_ ', actually."

Impressed, Sam looked to Selaphiel. "Explains your skill with the stake earlier." He almost didn't see the subtle smile of appreciation on the archangel's features as her gaze finally came into focus.

"And you just … let somebody up and take it?" interrupted Dean with a hint of annoyance.

Selaphiel's gaze lifted to Castiel who continued to stand sentry at her side, his posture straight and dutiful … but her expression seemed perplexed. _"My staff was not stolen,"_ she confessed quietly. Her brother snapped his attention to her, confused. _"I moved it."_

"You … moved it?" Dean echoed.

 _"Yes,"_ she replied as she looked to the hunter once more. _"When Raphael took over for Michael. I moved my staff to another location."_

"Why would you do that?" Sam questioned.

 _"Because I disagreed with his plans and did not trust him,"_ she answered simply.

Another snort resounded from Dean. "Yeah. About that," he started, shifting his posture into one of interrogation. "Just … where were you during all of that? Y'know, having another archangel on our side would have been **really** helpful over the past … I dunno … six? _Seven_ years? During the Apocalypse? Apocalypse Part Deux?"

"Dean," Sam warned, noticing Selaphiel's gaze lowering once more, the archangel becoming increasingly distant and mournful as Dean continued.

"Leviathans. Abaddon. **Metatron**. What the **hell** were doing through all of that? Huh?"

"His **job** ," Cas interrupted, his tone firm and defensive, laced with reserved anger.

"What? He couldn't have taken a break to help you out in the war against Raph? Or how about when Naomi had you under her thumb, huh? He couldn't take a minute to just be like _'hey, that's not cool'_?"

"Dean, stop it," Sam insisted as Selaphiel's eyes closed, her head bowing sadly. Grabbing his brother's arm, he pulled him toward the war room with a mutter. "Can I have a word with you?" Dean cast the archangel a scowl of disapproval as he was pulled away, but even though they were out of earshot, he still kept an eye on her from the distance. "Okay. What's going on?" Sam asked. "You've been on Sel's ass since before he even woke up."

"I don't trust him," Dean confessed bluntly.

"Why?"

"Why? _**Why?!**_ Because he's so damn humble. He's humble and quiet and **not** acting all holier-than-thou and smells really … **_really_ ** good, damnit, like church incense or whatever-"

"You don't like him because he _smells nice_?" Sam asked with a confused scrunch of his brow.

"Incense, Sam!"

"Angel of Prayer, Dean."

"Besides the point!"

"Is this a … bad … thing? I don't get it."

"That's just the problem!" Dean admitted. "I **don't** get it. Because I trust him."

"You **don't** trust him because you **trust** him ...?"

"Exactly!" Dean huffed. "I just … I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I trust him, and I like him, and I don't **like** that I like him. Like it's some kind of spell or whatever, I dunno! I just-I don't like that I **just** met the guy and I automatically trust him and like him because _that_ never ends well!"

"Dean. Look at them. Look at Cas." Sam began, motioning to the figures of the two angels in the distance. "Does that look like the face of someone who resents his brother for not helping him? Honestly? That face? That's adoration."

Castiel slowly crouched at the archangel's side, looking up to her face with deep blue eyes filled with the respect and love of a little brother who looked to his sibling as a hero. "Selaphiel," he began with a gentle gruff. "Please do not take offense by what Dean said. None of us would be here if it wasn't for you. He just … doesn't understand that you have been with us every step of the way."

Heavy lashes lifted only slightly as her sorrowful gaze settled upon her brother.

"The ends justify the means, right?" Castiel continued. "No matter how much it hurts."

Her gaze lowered to her hands within her lap, only to have them taken within Castiel's and squeezed lightly. Still, she did not speak, nor did she look to him to see the worry in his eyes. "I know what you are experiencing must be very painful," Castiel continued, Selaphiel's fingers twitching faintly within his grasp. "But we will find a way to free you. I promise."

Mournful eyes lifted to meet her brothers as a subtle shadow of a smile ghosted over her features. And removing her hand from his, she whispered delicately.

 _"Hands, though."_

"I know, right?" he replied with widened eyes and a smile as she gave his nose a light tap with her fingertip.

…

…

…

The stone slab lay broken as it crossed the line of dying holy fire. Standing at its edge stood a man of tanned skin and dark hair, mahogany eyes scanning the hundreds of corpses that lay in layered rings around the ceremonial circle. The posture of this tall figure was perfectly straight and poised, the aura of a warrior grasping his Angelic Sword in his left hand. The figure's steps scarcely made a sound as he dared to near the center, where a man in a green robe held his head and attempted to push himself to his knees.

"How did he escape?" the Grigori demanded with a rumbling baritone.

Sputtering for breath, the man finally surrendered his attempts to stand and instead rolled onto his back to look up to the new arrival who now kicked at a broken bit of rock. "I … I don't know … everything went exactly as you planned, Kokabiel."

The fallen angel's gaze moved to the chains to find that one, and only one, of the sigils had been scratched through. His eyes narrowed in disappointment as he turned his disdain to the man upon the ground. "This has been a waste. You had a saboteur." He ignored the man's excuses.

"How could we have known? Everyone present was dedicated to the cause. They all gave their lives for the entrapment-"

"This is war. We do not have room for mistakes," Kokabiel scowled. "Our window of opportunity is closing and now the army must lie in wait due to the negligence of you useless mud monkeys."

"We will find him. I promise you."

"We? Your supporters are dead. And now the celestial general is loose upon this world and untraceable."

"I will find him for you. I will! I swear to God-"

The Grigori's blade pierced the mortal's neck, silencing him with a hiss as the life faded from the man's eyes.

"God is dead."

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 7: **Two Can Keep a Secret if One of Them is Dead** }}_


	7. Chapter 7: Two Can Keep a Secret

Dean tapped the trackpad of his laptop, closely studying the screen before him as he idly twirled his pen within his fingers. He'd made himself comfortable at one of the library tables, focused intently on the information. "Okay, so, according to the Eastern Orthodox belief, Saint Selaphiel … also known as _Selatiel_ and _Sa **la** thiel_, is one of the Seven Archangels from the Second Tier of Heaven … who fought against Lucifer during the first War in Heaven by ' _positioning themselves between the Throne of God and the offenders, prepared to defend the honor and dignity of God_ '," he read aloud.

Sam had been comparing the sigils from the chains with those found in a book of ancient Enochian; judging by the look on face, he wasn't having much success and gladly welcomed the distraction from his brother, glancing to Dean as the hunter continued.

"His name literally means the _Prayer of God_. Angel of Sacrament and Holy Orders."

"So … basically … he's the real deal, then," Sam commented. "Every order, every communication between angels and God and the humans … that's his job."

"Yeah, and when Cas said the Angel Radio Tower was gone, he was being kinda literal. Tower, transmitter, the whole spiel."

Sitting back in his chair with a heavy sigh, Sam replied, "Yeah … that … **that** would cripple Heaven."

Dean continued to read aloud. "' _And much incense was given to him so that he might offer the prayers of all the saints. And the smoke of the **incense** of the **prayers** of the **saints** ascended, in the presence of God, from the hand of the Angel_ '."

"Explains why he smells nice," Sam smirked.

Dean gave his brother a sarcastic scowl then continued. "Says here that he's known for helping people break addictions …" He gave Sam a quick, knowing look. "Interpret dreams. Protect children … preside over … _exorcisms_ …" His brows lifted at this information. "The coincidences are just getting creepy now."

"What else does it say?"

"He's the Angel of Thursday."

"Like Cas," Sam nodded.

"And apparently he also rules over music in Heaven."

"Huh," Sam commented. "I guess when Lucifer was cast out, they needed a new conductor for their choir."

"Sounds like a busy guy. And get this … there's all these debates about which of the seven archangels represent which of the seven heavenly virtues … and apparently Sel is at the top of the list for Diligence and Humility."

"Selaphiel is an altruistic workaholic," Castiel announced quietly as he approached them.

"Hey, Cas." Sam greeted, casting a brief look beyond his friend to look to Selaphiel who still sat quietly in the chair, just as she had before. Her eyes were closed, head bowed as though praying. He should have expected as much. "How is he?"

"In excruciating pain," Castiel explained simply.

Dean winced as took a quick glimpse at the quiet archangel before returning his attention to his friend. "Still overloading?"

"Like I said, he is a workaholic." Castiel sighed as he glanced around. "He needs something to do, something to focus on … something he can put some effort into without using too much of his power and alerting the others to his location."

Sam lifted his head slightly and set his book aside. "I've got an idea," he said, standing quickly. "Be right back," he added and left the room quickly.

A moment of silence passed before Dean finally let his focus land on Castiel. "Look, uh …" he started, "what I said earlier, you know, about him not helping you out in the past. I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did," the angel replied as he sat beside his friend.

"Well, yeah, I mean … I did **at the time** , but that was before I really understood, y'know, anything about him. I mean, it's not like you talk much about your family."

Both cast a quick glance back to the vessel containing the celestial general, then returned their attention to each other as Castiel offered Dean a slight shrug.

"You two close?" the hunter asked curiously.

Castiel replied with a slow nod. "Out of the relationships I have with my … 'big' brothers, I would consider our relationship among the strongest, yes."

"So … he's like … immediate family, then?"

"Something like that."

"Cas … how come you never talked about him before? I mean, if you're so close."

Again, the angel's shoulders rolled slowly with a small shrug. "Technically, I have, just … not by name." Judging by the curious lift of Dean's brows, Castiel felt he had to explain further. "He's … always listening."

"Nosy?"

A faint smile cracked the angel's expression. "Not at all. I prefer to think of it as 'protective'. But … due to his humility, and since he is always listening, he feels … understandably awkward when I talk about him directly. It would be like Sam talking to me about you … while you are sitting next to us."

Dean's eyes wandered to the side as his lips pressed together in thought … then nodded with a gesture that read as 'fair enough' as he looked to his friend again. "Doesn't talk much, does he?" the hunter continued. "I mean, most of your big brothers, they've been kinda … wordy. Or pious. Or, y'know, spouting off righteous speeches that kinda just make you wanna punch 'em." Castiel's lips twitched again with a faded smile. "But Sel? Sel's kinda … I dunno …"

"Quiet?" Castiel suggested.

Pausing a moment, Dean glanced over to the meditating archangel once more, then turned back to Castiel. "Yeah," he agreed. "Quiet."

"He's a very good listener."

"I'll bet," the hunter added with a nod. Another moment of silence passed between the two friends before he continued. "So … twice the size of Mount McKinley, huh?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded.

"Dude … when you call him your 'big brother' … you ain't kiddin'," he chuckled.

"He's spent a majority of his existence as a less-condensed and more widely-dispersed multi-dimensional wavelength, however. Like air. But … energy, light and sound."

Sam reentered the library, immediately approaching Selaphiel who remained silent and still. "Hey," he greeted quietly. Her eyes opened slightly, mournful gaze slowly lifting to look at the hunter as he crouched in front of her chair. "Selaphiel? Hey," he repeated as he confirmed having her attention. Careful, he set a basket containing balls of yarn and an assortment of knitting needles within her lap. "So. I've been thinking, and uh … I remembered this time I met an old woman who everybody said used to be this real spitfire, but her arthritis got so bad that she wasn't able to do much and it kinda just, y'know, drove her nuts because she felt completely useless, but she had to do something … so … she took up knitting. Kept her busy. And she ended up making these … like … amazing scarves and sweaters and things, so … y'know, if it worked for her, maybe … maybe it could be a good distraction for you, too. At least until we can figure something else out."

Selaphiel was silent for a beat, then lifted her head slightly with a slow blink. With mild hesitation, she reached forward, carefully grasping a ball of blue yarn. Sam couldn't help the genuine smile as it broke onto his face.

"So, when you said that Sel was everywhere," Dean quietly continued with Castiel.

"He was **everywhere** ," the angel confirmed as he watched the exchange between their siblings with a thoughtful expression. "You know when you close your eyes in the dark, but you still see the faint aura and patterns of light and color?" he asked, returning his attention to Dean. "That's him."

"Really …"

"It is … a comfort to know he is there, even when he isn't needed. That … we are never truly alone."

Sudden realization sparked behind Dean's eyes. "You mean, every time me and Sam ever prayed to you-"

"I was able to hear it because of Selaphiel, yes."

"And he … he hears everything, right?"

"Even thoughts and emotions, yes."

Mildly amused, Dean snorted and shook his head. "Man, I can't even imagine half the crap he must hear on a daily basis. He must be like … Super Confession Booth or something."

"He delivers the messages to the appropriate recipients. Regardless of content. Unbiased and without judgment."

Dean froze, eyes suddenly widening with epiphany. "So he knows everyone's true intentions, right?"

"Yes."

"Cas. He's like … the gatekeeper to the garden of secrets!" he announced as Sam approached. "I don't know about you, but if I was up to no good and wanted to hide it from everyone, I'd take out the **one person** who knew."

"And if he knows all these secrets about people," Sam added, "then it makes sense they'd want to interrogate him first to get information."

Castiel shook his head in adamant protest. "Selaphiel would never tell. He would die first."

"Well, two can keep a secret if one of them is dead," Dean said firmly.

"They didn't trap him in the homunculus just to use him," Castiel realized. "They trapped him in there to **kill him**."

Selaphiel did not see the three pairs of eyes that focused on her then, much less the panic that slowly settled within the trio's expressions. Her attention was focused in tying a slipknot with the string. Horrified, Castiel whispered to his friends.

"We have to get him out of there."

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 8: **I Know the Reason Why You Keep Your Silence Up** }}_


	8. Chapter 8: I Know the Reason Why

_{{ **Author's Note:**_ _This chapter contains a scene that may be considered mature for some audiences. Triggering content includes self-mutilation, blood, violence and allusions to suicidal ideation. Reader discretion is advised. }}_

 _..._

A heavy sigh fell from Sam's lips as his brow seemed forever knit in concentration; his gaze flicked between the hand-written sigils on his legal pad to the book beside it. Something just wasn't lining up and he couldn't make heads or tails of it. His attention drifted briefly to Castiel who stood before a large board covered in photos of the details of Selaphiel's cloak; his arms were folded over his chest as he, too, seemed intently focused on his task … and judging by the perplexed yet curious expression upon his friend's face, Sam surmised the angel must be experiencing a conundrum of his own. He then turned his attention to the captive archangel, having almost forgotten she was there.

She was quiet, so painstakingly quiet knitting away with her hair in a bun held up by a pair of needles, her sleeves rolled up and black yarn loosely wrapped around her left arm as she had found a corner of the library within which to pace. He was relieved that she at least seemed to find something to keep her busy. So far, her new hobby seemed to be working … though honestly, he didn't know her as well as Castiel did, so he couldn't be sure. He was certain Selaphiel was still experiencing the excruciating pain her brother had mentioned, but at least she had something to distract her. Truthfully, the archangel didn't seem like the type to complain … or even tell anyone if she was having a problem … and that worried Sam. In a way, Selaphiel reminded him of Dean; he could see the parallels, particularly in the way that both older brothers had a tendency not to ask for help because they didn't want their loved ones to worry about them.

"Yeah, got it. Thanks," resonated the gruff of Dean's voice as he ended the conversation on his cell, re-entering the library and drawing his brother's attention. "All right. Got a lead. Strange streaks of light reported over Palouse Falls last night about the same time Sel went AWOL." Shoving the phone into his pocket, he looked to Sam and froze in his tracks. "Typical celestial bright lights, loud ringing and … what … the hell are you wearing?"

"It's a hat," Sam said with a smile that was just a bit too perky for Dean's taste. Regardless, he seemed rather proud of the knit black beanie hugging his noggin.

"Oooookay," he replied with brows raised before looking to the pacing archangel. "... and what's he knitting now?"

"Uhhh … gloves? I think?"

"Gloves?" Dean scoffed. "What? Are we planning an arctic expedition? Cas? Did he knit you a scarf?" he joked.

Without removing his gaze from the board, the angel caught the expertly-knitted blue yarn of his necktie between his middle and index fingers, flicking the accessory lightly over his shoulder to show his friend. "New tie," he announced before dropping it back into place and continuing to stare at the photos.

"He knit you a **tie**?"

"Cary Grant and Gregory Peck both frequently wore knit ties."

"Classy," Dean commented as he glanced between his brother and Castiel. "That's great for you guys, really, but I'm not wearing no mittens. It's just not happening and you can forget it."

Sam chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he changed the subject. "So I've been comparing the sigils on these chains and … I don't know if … maybe I'm just reading this incorrectly or something? Cas?"

Castiel turned around with a furrowed brow, still appearing confused but approaching his friend nonetheless to peer over the hunter's broad shoulders as Sam went on. "It seems to be the same binding mantra over and over, pretty straight forward. But there's this one line on one link that has this … this really subtle difference on one of the sigils. I mean, you kinda miss it at first glance; it's tiny, but it changes the meaning of the sigil entirely … and I don't think it was a mistake. Because here …" He picked up one of the shackles, motioning to another sigil. "The same thing happens here. Line after line of the same sort of incantation, but here, this one sigil, this subtle alteration changes the entire meaning of that one line."

Careful, Castiel took the iron shackle within his grasp and studied it closely.

"That must be how Sel was able to escape," Dean concluded. "It's like finding an Achilles Heel. He must've found the weak spot and broke the chain."

Shackle still in his hand, Castiel returned to the board, curiously staring at the photos for a beat. "Cas?" Dean asked. "What is it?"

The angel narrowed his eyes and looked closer. "The same discrepancy happens on the cloak. It is almost undetectable," he explained as the Winchesters both moved to join him.

"This **had** to have been intentional," Dean muttered. "There's no way someone would put **that** much detail into something only to mess up."

"Are you suggesting that whoever trapped Sel in the homunculus changed their mind but went through with it anyway?" Sam asked.

"I'm saying that I think this entire scheme couldn't have been pulled off by just **one** person. Obviously. This had to have been a group of people and at least one of these people was having second thoughts."

"And being sneaky about it."

"Okay. So …" Dean began, brows lifting as he racked his mind for more ideas. "What if this person also had a hand in making the homunculus? An alchemist or whatever? Like, what if those carvings on Sel's bones have one of these faux symbols that he can just, I dunno, trickle out of? Cas? Do you think there might be a couple of these typos in there?"

"It's possible," the angel replied as he glanced over his shoulder to his brother. "Selaphiel?" he asked of the archangel who still paced while knitting on the other side of the library. "Do you sense any discrepancies in your vessel's containment?"

 _"No,"_ was her quiet and simple reply.

"Well, it was worth a shot," Sam said.

"At least we're narrowing it down some," Dean remarked as he looked back to board. "Positive thinking," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone.

"The saboteur is not an alchemist," Castiel deduced.

"Look, Sel, no offense," Dean suddenly piped up as he looked quickly back over to the archangel, "but that is really distracting. Do you think you could stop pacing for maybe, I dunno, _five minutes_?"

Sel's bare feet came to a sudden halt, but he did not look up or make another sound as he continued to knit right where he stood. With a triumphant nod, Dean mumbled a satisfied "okay".

"Selaphiel is still becoming acclimated to Earth's gravity," Castiel explained. "The vessel is … top heavy."

 _"Because I have breasts,"_ she added flatly, attention still focused upon her project.

Both Winchesters smirked at that. "Yeah," Sam agreed. "We noticed."

Dean's gaze slowly looked the archangel from bottom to top as he turned to face her fully. "About that," he started curiously, "Sorry, but … what do we call you? He? **She**? It's just that Cas refers to you as his brother, but it's kinda … I dunno how this works for angels, honestly."

Without looking away from her knitting, she offered a straightforward and truthful reply without missing a beat. _"I am a genderless entity trapped within a man-made human body that happens to have female anatomy. If referring to me as 'her' and 'she' is easier for you, then please do what is comfortable."_

Castiel pressed his lips together for a moment, brows lifting before he finally broke the stunned silence. "That is his polite way of saying he doesn't care either way."

"Well …" Dean breathed. "Okay then … not as awkward as I thought that would be …"

Sam kept his eyes focused on Selaphiel as he continued, "So if that body's got the same sigils on the inside, maybe all we need to do is alter a couple of the marks like on the chains and cloak … then maybe Sel can squeeze out of there!"

"Why not just chop of her arm?" Dean suggested.

Castiel shook his head. "That could mortally wound him by permanently severing the energy he has dispersed in that arm. That is … if we could even successfully remove the arm at all." He shifted his posture a bit, clearly nervous about this idea as he removed the angel blade from his sleeve. "He is an archangel. At the very least, it would require an angel blade to cause any damage at all."

"Are you suggesting we **CUT HER OPEN** and just start carving on her bones?"

"Dean. Sam," Castiel began warily as he turned his attention to his friends. "This could kill him. I am reluctant to attempt it-"

The quiet _click_ of the metal needles upon the floor preceded the archangel's immediate acquisition of Castiel's weapon as she plucked it from his grasp. "Selaphiel!" he exclaimed.

The sickening _**crunch** _ of sliced flesh resonated within the library as the blade pierced the the archangel's right forearm, white and opalesque light pouring from the wound as he continued to tear into the skin and muscle, revealing the bones within. Never once did she flinch, her expression remaining perfectly calm and in control. "Selaphiel! Stop!" her brother cried out as he and the Winchesters rushed to her.

"Cas! **Do something**!" Dean shouted, watching the light growing brighter as she made the gash even larger.

 _"Hold it open,"_ she whispered as the wound started to heal again, the loud ringing filling the library.

"Selaphiel," Castiel protested.

 _"Hold it open,"_ she repeated firmly.

Not hesitating any further, Castiel sank his fingers into the healing wound, prying it open as instructed to expose the engraved ulna and radius. The sigils were a dull absence of light compared to the blinding glow radiating from her arm.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Sam asked with alarm.

 _"Yes,"_ she replied with a calm monotone.

"Okay," Dean piped up nervously, "you are officially the most **metal** angel I've ever met."

Without another word, Selaphiel turn the blade in her hand and quickly attempted to use its tip to draw along the bone. The glow intensified at the first scratch, the ringing growing in volume as the entirety of the bunker trembled with the power that was pouring from her wound.

"Cas!" Dean called out as sparks flew from the contact between blade and bone.

"Selaphiel …" Castiel hurriedly spoke. "This isn't working. The flesh is healing too quickly." Another scratch of the blade along the ulna caused a sharp jerk of the room around them, nearly knocking the Winchesters off their feet. Sam grasped the table while Dean shifted his feet to maintain his balance; both men closed their eyes and covered their ears … and Selaphiel finally flinched. "Selaphiel, stop it!" The pain finally trickled through that otherwise stoic mask as she pressed on, scraping feverishly at the sigil, her body jerking and becoming rigid as she dug deeper. She choked on a quiet cry, caught within her throat, but her eyes never lost the intensity, the sheer will to get out, to break free … and for a moment, she possessed the look of a crazed, caged wild animal, determined and desperate, willing to do whatever it took even if it killed her …

"STOP!" Castiel shouted as he ripped the blade from her grasp and threw it onto the floor with a clanking clatter. Immediately, he wrapped his hands around her arm, closing the wound, the gash healing almost immediately. The light stopped, the room no longer shook and the library was once again quiet.

Selaphiel stared at her brother with wide eyes, visibly distraught and lined with tears that did not fall; both stood still; she did not pull away, though one could garner by her rigid posture that she very well could have knocked Castiel to the ground with little more than a flick of her wrist … but she didn't. Instead, the two angels looked to each other in silence, and Castiel's fingers tightened around her fully-healed arm.

Finally, she turned her gaze to the floor and whispered. _"Let go."_

"No," he replied with defiance.

 _"Let go,"_ she repeated through her teeth.

"No. It was killing you."

 _"I am already dying,"_ she replied with a strained tone, quickly looking to her brother again with a pained expression. A jagged inhale accompanied the brief tremble of her form as her eyes pleaded with him … and Castiel was shocked into silence; one could practically feel the frozen stones falling into the icy pit of his stomach simply by observing how he looked at her, a hurt and frightened expression overcoming his face.

"I won't let you do this," he protested, adamant.

Her whisper was hurried and weak, _"Castiel, you are my brother and I love you, but do not make me pull rank. You know I hate pulling rank."_

"Selaphiel. _Please_. I am **begging** you," he pleaded, holding her arm tighter. Silence, pure silence settled between them, around them, even the Winchesters were speechless as they watched the wordless exchange between the two angels who seemed to hold an entire conversation with just a stare … and then …

Selaphiel's lips parted, as though she was about to speak, a soft breath taken … and then … she released a soft exhale as her gaze shifted to the floor with acceptance.

"Thank you," was Castiel's relieved response.

"So!" Dean interrupted suddenly, his eyes wide and fully intending to steer this conversation into a different direction. "Road trip to Washington! Who's with me?"

All eyes turned to him; Sam's own attention was incredulous. "What?" Dean asked. "I just need to get out of here, guys."

Sam cleared his throat. "If Palouse Falls actually is where Sel got zapped, then I don't think taking him back to the scene would be a good idea. Especially if whoever this is plans to kill him."

"I'll go," Castiel announced.

Selaphiel shot her brother a protesting and protective glance.

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

"And I'll stay here with Sel," Sam conferred. "We'll see if we can't scrounge up some more clues."

"Okay. Great," Dean agreed with a clap of his hands before bending down to pick up Castiel's blade. "And, uh, make sure he doesn't do that stabby thing again, okay?" he added as he looked between them. "Try to keep this place and that vessel in one piece while we're gone?"

"Sure," Sam smirked.

"Good. Cas?"

As the angel started to move away, Selaphiel reached up to grasp his hand with both of hers, holding him in place. Again, the two met for another long and wordless stare. The archangel made no effort to conceal the worry and concern in her eyes. "I'll be careful. I promise," Castiel gently swore to her.

Selaphiel narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Promise," he repeated as he gave her hands a squeeze, patting her arm warmly before slipping from her grasp to join his friend.

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 9: **In a White Room with Black Curtains** }}_


	9. 9: In a White Room with Black Curtains

Devils Tower stood vigil over the plains of Wyoming, the day so clear and crisp that one's breath lingered upon the chilled air in a fog with each exhale. Silence seemed the music of the evening, which made it all the more eerie to Sam Winchester as he approached the great plateau alone. Pulling his knit cap down a bit tighter over his head, he took a deep and cleansing breath as he paused to look up to the monument … and its peak. Something wasn't right.

A bright stream of white light shot from sky to pillar like a signal beam, piercing the atmosphere for only a few seconds, leaving Sam stunned and in a somewhat awed silence. A thin trail of white smoke began to slowly rise from atop the plateau. Instantly, Sam felt compelled to rush toward the natural tower, but slowed as he approached two trees growing closely together … two trees that would otherwise seem completely normal were it not for the fact that he noticed something carved upon the trunk of one. It was small, but the closer the hunter drew to the trees, the more he recognized the symbols as Enochian in nature.

"Huh," he exhaled with curiosity as he reached out to touch it … and noticed an identical sigil on the tree growing next to it. Overhead, he saw more sigils carved in the branches. Was this a door? A portal? He wasn't sure, but he'd had his fair share of invisible doorways in the past. Sam took several steps back and glanced around, locating a small rock. With a light shrug, he tossed the stone between the trunks, observing as it vanished. He tossed a second rock through the trees, and then a third for good measure. Cautious, he inched toward the trees, drew a deep breath and stepped through …

… to find himself standing atop the Devils Tower, open air surrounding him as he balanced himself precariously among the beige igneous rock. "Whoa …" he breathed as he glanced behind himself to see nothing, hundreds of feet in the air … but upon closer examination of the rock beneath his feet, he noticed the small crater ahead of him, white smoke rising from its depths. Careful steps led him closer, curiously looking within the hole to discover … an egg?

It looked the shape of an egg at least, approximately the size of his fist, and yet … its shell was a reflection of the night sky, darkness and stars, galaxies and nebulas … and Sam was captivated by its beauty. Kneeling at the crater, he reached forward to gingerly touch the surface of the egg … and on contact, heard a soft ringing, a harmonious five notes that sounded peaceful … at least to him … but as he gently lifted it within his palms, he could hear a whispering … multiple voices whispering, but he couldn't make out what they were saying …

He almost didn't notice the growing sounds of snarling coming from the ground hundreds of feet below, slowly rising toward the peak … but the volume grew, and grew … and Sam noticed the daylight was dimming. Upon glancing up, he found himself surrounded by shadows, swirling clouds of darkness that continued to lift to the sky and envelop the pillar. His eyes widened as he stood quickly, cradling the egg protectively to himself.

But within his hands, he felt the egg tremble, heard the shell crack and jerked his gaze away from the shadows and to his cargo … to witness a split in its surface as a bright, white light pierced through the shell. Another tremble, another crack as the darkness grew ever closer … the glow brightened, the ringing intensified as he was quickly enveloped by the light. Otherworldly screams of agony, hisses and cries surrounded him as he could not only hear but practically feel the shadows dying around him …

Sam Winchester woke with a start, sitting upright in his bed with a sharp inhale, alarm tracing his features as he waited for the pounding of his heart to slow. Rubbing his face, he took a moment to collect himself. He was in his room in the bunker, safe and sound, and it had all just been a dream. But upon lowering his hands and allowing his eyes to adjust to the golden light of his bedside lamp, he noticed the figure sitting silently, cross-legged, at the foot of his bed. Startled, he jerked his head toward his company, staring at Selaphiel with wide eyes.

"Sel?" he greeted as he briefly shifted his gaze to the clock, noting the time of **3:52 A.M.** in red glowing numbers. "... were you watching me sleep?" he asked hesitantly as he returned his attention to her.

 _"I ran out of yarn,"_ was her quiet and simple reply.

Sam stared at her for a moment, parted his lips as though about to speak, but then just shook his head with a slight smirk. "Hey. Uhm …" he began, shifting himself into a more comfortable position as he rested his back against the headboard. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

 _"Ask me anything,"_ she assured gently.

"Dream interpretations are kind of your thing, right?" he asked, receiving a subtle nod as the angel's response. "Can you tell me what it means to dream about an egg covered in stars?"

 _"One should not tell dreams before breakfast,"_ she replied quietly.

His brows knit in confusion. "Says who?"

 _"The Druids."_

He paused a moment, narrowing his eyes curiously. "Since when do archangels care about the Druid superstitions?"

 _"I like Druids,"_ was her soft reply amid a perplexed expression. _"And if one still remembers the dream following his first meal, then it is a dream meant to be remembered and therefore should be discussed."_

Again, silence fell between them as Sam could not help but give her a curious and incredulous look. His reaction was not one specifically due to just how unexpected and unpredictable his celestial companion was, but also due to the fact that something about what she had said sounded all too familiar to him. "I read that," he started, pushing himself out of bed to stand. "Like, I read that verbatim. In one of the journals." Who was it? It was right on the tip of his mind. "Father Thompson." He crossed the room, pausing at the door to look at her. "Max Thompson. He was a priest, a Man of Letters, the same man who wrote a modified exorcism. The one meant to cure demons … to save them."

A gentle expression faded upon Selaphiel's features, pensive and sorrowful. _"Demons were once human."_

"Exactly," he agreed … but then he paused, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he took a step toward her, studying the angel closely. "That was you. Wasn't it. You're the one who taught him how to cure a demon … didn't you …" It was more of a statement than a question.

But it was a comment upon which Selaphiel remained mute, shifting her gaze downward as the hunter moved to sit at her side on the edge of the bed. "Look, Sel … you don't have to be humble about this. You can tell me the truth. Did you teach Father Thompson that exorcism?"

Reluctant, she did not look to Sam as her head bowed with a small nod. His eyes widened as he stood again, turning away with a sharp breath. He swallowed as he nodded to himself, unable to find the words as he paced at the foot of the bed. "I … you … it's because of you that I was able to cure Dean …" he murmured as his mind processed this realization, chuckling to himself as he fought the tears tracing his eyes. "You've … have you been involved with the Men of Letters all this time?" he asked, daring to glance at the quiet archangel.

She said nothing, but her head again lowered in a silent confirmation. Sam choked on a chuckle as he shook his head. "I don't understand. Cas said you'd never taken a human vessel before. How did you manage to teach the Men of Letters anything?"

 _"Some humans … have the ability to observe us in our true forms,"_ she explained gently, keeping her gaze downcast. _"Joan of Arc. Francis of Assisi. Father Thompson."_

"Sel." She finally shifted her eyes from the bed to Sam as he stopped pacing and continued. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

 _"Ask me anything,"_ she calmly acknowledged.

Hesitant, he sat at her side once more, watching as she tilted her head curiously at him; the more he was around her, the less uncomfortable her infinite stare felt. "While I was going through the Trials …" he started carefully, "... after the second trial, when I … when I was resonating with the Word of God … and I heard … and remembered things …" He drew a breath, gathering his thoughts for a beat before coming to the conclusion. "That was you … wasn't it? That sound I heard. What I … felt."

She offered a slow nod.

A monosyllabic laugh resonated in his throat. "And when I took Confession … that was you listening, wasn't it?"

Again, she nodded.

"So you …" he shook his head again, standing once more as he felt compelled to pace. "You know what I said … in there. About letting Dean down? You heard all of that? Every … prayer, every … confession I've ever made." He pressed his lips together, feeling the sting of the tears, threatening to fall … but he refused to let them, and instead inhaled deeply. "Gatekeeper to the Garden of Secrets, just like he said." He swallowed and turned to look to the angel again. "You know … you remind me of him. Of Dean."

Her lashes fluttered a bit with her curious glance.

"I mean, Cas said you'd always been there for him, y'know, despite how many times he screwed up … you were still there. Dean's done the same for me. I dunno. Maybe it's a protective older brother thing? Bailing out the mess of a little brother and forgiving him no matter what?"

Selaphiel did not speak, but the distance in her gaze seemed to offer volumes in response.

A thoughtful smile melted onto Sam's face. "I get why Cas looks up to you. Been there."

The edges of her mouth curled upwards in a subtle, timid smile as her eyes lowered to the bed once more.

"You know what?" he said with a different tone, one that translated as having the intent to change the subject. "I think we've been cooped up in this bunker for too long," he added as he crossed the room to his duffle bag, beginning to pack. "Let's go to Topeka."

 _"Topeka?"_ Selaphiel echoed curiously as she gave the hunter a side glance.

"Yep. Because you need yarn."

 _"... at four in the morning …?"_ she added with slight confusion.

"Yeah, well … it's Sunday."

The angel blinked rapidly as her brow furrowed.

He looked over his shoulder back at her, urging, "If we leave now, we can make morning service at Grace Cathedral."

Immediately, Selaphiel seemed interested as she moved to stand with a lightened expression. _"You are taking me to church?"_

Sam laughed. "Yeah. I hear they have a good choir," he said with a wink.

…

…

…

The road sign read ' **Welcome to Oregon** ', illuminated briefly by the headlights of the Impala; the road was slick from the drizzle that continued to fall, and though the windshield wipers moved out of sync with the beat of Led Zeppelin's "Misty Mountain Hop" on the radio, Dean didn't seem to notice … he didn't notice because the silence between him and the angel riding shotgun was starting to make him uneasy. Castiel hadn't been one for conversation their entire trip, opting instead to simply watch the scenery as they drove by.

Unable to take it anymore, he switched off the radio and glanced toward his friend. "So … are we gonna talk about this?"

"Talk about what?" the angel replied without looking away from the window.

"Look, Cas, I get whole idea of, y'know, preferring to go the slow route with me so you don't zap yourself into a trap, and I'm thankful for the company, really I am, but you? Sitting all quiet like that? It's crazy. I mean, yeah, you're not usually the chatty type, but I can tell somethin's eatin' at ya, and if you need to talk about it? Well … I'm a captive audience, obviously."

Castiel just pressed his lips together and continued to watch the trees as they passed.

"I'm guessin' this has something to do with Big Bro Sel," Dean said after a beat.

"It feels … cold …" the angel quietly remarked.

"What?"

"Empty. And cold," Castiel added; he gave his friend a quick glance before returning his attention to the window.

"Care to elaborate?" the hunter asked with a light shrug.

"It's just … strange," he explained. "Selaphiel has been there my entire existence. And now he's suddenly …" He didn't finish his thought, voice fading with a light shake of his head.

Thoughtfulness filled Dean's gaze as he looked briefly to his friend then to the road again. "Yeah, I get it," he assured with a gentle understanding behind his gruff tone. "You get so used to having someone around, especially someone you care about, and suddenly they're not there anymore. It's kinda like … death."

"Something like that, I suppose," Castiel agreed.

"But you're lucky. I mean, sure, it's a crappy situation, but Sel's still here. He's still with us, he's just … trapped, y'know? _Phenomenal cosmic powers, itty bitty living space_."

The angel shook his head and watched the road. "That … _'itty bitty living space'_ is suffocating him to death," he admitted worriedly.

Dean gave him a side glance, allowing a beat of quiet to pass between them. "Hey," he started in an attempt to comfort his friend. "He's gonna be okay, Cas. We're gonna find a way to get him out of there, and then he can go back to being that altruist workaholic of a communications officer he's always been."

Castiel pressed his lips together and sighed heavily.

"Hey … Cas. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you remember … after you played God and you didn't want anything to do with Heaven, so you turned off your Angel Radio?"

Castiel's gaze shifted nervously. "Yes."

"Well, if Sel is the Angel Radio … how did that work? Did you just … tell him to go away?"

"No … not exactly," the angel confessed.

"Well … spill, 'cuz I'm really curious and we've got five more hours 'til we reach Palouse Falls, so … I'm all ears."

The hesitation was visible on Castiel's face, audible within his voice. "He never completely went away, just … made it quiet for a while. He … understood how I felt and respected my wishes to be left alone … well … at least he gave me some semblance of feeling like I had space anyway."

"So it wasn't actually turned off, just muted?"

A small and pensive smile faded onto the angel's lips. "Selaphiel was always listening. Watching over me."

"But not interfering," the hunter surmised.

"Not usually, no. Though … he always provided assistance when I asked. I just … don't ask him very often."

"Why not?" Dean asked curiously with a quick glance to his friend. "I mean, I can think of at least half a dozen times when we could have really used someone with his kinda mojo."

"He's very busy," Castiel protested quickly.

"Don't give me that crap, Cas. Busy or not busy, he still could have pitched in."

"Dean," the angel began sternly. "When the Angels were in the midst of a Civil War, the Universe ending, being locked out of of Heaven … **someone** had to keep watch over everything else amid the chaos. If we thought it was bad while those things were going on, I shudder to think of how much worse it would have been had he stepped away from his duties for even a moment."

The hunter was silent as the realization set in. "Kinda like that whole … _'needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few'_ thing, huh?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"Putting aside your own family for the sake of the Universe? Okay, yeah, I get it." Dean sighed. "I mean, I don't like it, but I get it. And … I respect it … I guess."

The angel nodded and returned to watching the scenery.

"So he always helps you when you ask, huh?" Dean clarified.

"Yes."

"Have you asked for his help at all since the whole … Apocalypse thing?"

"Yes."

The hunter blinked and glanced to his friend. "Really? Uh … anything to do with, y'know, stuff involving **us**?"

Again, Castiel's tone was hesitant as his gaze shifted nervously. "A few."

"Yeah? Like?" When the angel didn't offer an immediate response, Dean urged. "Cas."

Castiel swallowed and took a breath. "When I took you and Sam to the past, to protect your mother and father from Ana … I was … completely drained. I asked Selaphiel to return me to the present."

"That was him?"

"Yes …"

"Awesome. What else?"

"He assisted in harrowing Hell to raise both you and Sam from perdition."

Dean coughed. "Wait. _**What**_?"

Castiel sighed heavily. "He is always so hesitant to return to Hell. It was an arrangement he had with Lucifer … to … mute the prayers of those in Hell." He shook his head sadly, gaze distant. "Selaphiel cannot handle it. He does not speak of it, but he feels at least partially responsible for the creation of demons, that he ignores the cries for help because he cannot. He told me once, long ago, that it is what causes him the most pain … hearing those desperate prayers for liberation to which he cannot abide. It is agonizing … and I hate asking it of him."

"He … he can hear all of that?" Dean asked uneasily, feeling a sharp twinge of sympathy for the archangel at that moment.

"He has to … tune it out, as you say, but yes. He is present in Hell. He is how we knew where to find you."

The hunter's expression softened with understanding. "That explains a lot."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked as he looked to his friend.

"Oh, nothing, just … weird vibes," he replied with a light shrug, shifting his gaze briefly. "Anything else?"

The angel's gaze became distant for a moment, recalling his confrontation with Metatron, still able to hear the scribe's voice in his memory ...

 _"You know why you could never pull it together, Castiel?" Metatron had gloated. "Why you're sitting here while your grace slowly burning away and your reputation long extinguished? No curiosity. You didn't read enough. You never learned how to tell a good story."  
"... but **you** did." Castiel remembered turning to the ever-present radio behind him, switched on and broadcasting to all angels, every one of his brethren listening to every word ... _

His mind shifted back to the present, to the Impala traveling along the damp Oregon road. Had there been another instance of Selaphiel helping him? Of course, but ...

"It is not my place to divulge my brother's life story and secrets, Dean."

"Fair enough," he said and cleared his throat, becoming lost in thought for a moment … but then his brows drew together as something occurred to him. "Hey … Cas? When we were in Purgatory … I prayed to you. You said you knew."

"Yes."

"Could you … actually hear me, or was that just an assumption?"

"I heard you," the angel answered with a nod.

"Cas."

Castiel turned his attention to Dean directly.

"If Sel was in Hell, was he in Purgatory, too?"

"Yes," the angel confirmed. "His presence extends into many realms."

"So he was in Purgatory. The whole time?"

"Some of him, yes."

"He could have helped you out of there at any time-"

"I didn't want to leave, remember?"

Dean nodded, abiding with that answer, however … "He didn't help Naomi get you out, did he …" he added in more of a statement than a question.

"No, he did not assist the others in retrieving me from Purgatory."

"Because you didn't want to be saved."

Castiel nodded.

"He respected your wishes," Dean realized with a small smile, "no matter the protests of others."

"He is a very understanding brother."

"Yeah …" the hunter sighed, memories flooding his mind for a mile or two as they rode in silence, and then … he made a sudden realization. "He was in Purgatory."

"Yes, Dean. We established that."

"No, Cas … your brother was able to go into Purgatory." His eyes widened with his thought process. "It took you and Crowley **how long** to open that portal, and **Sel** already had a hand in there?"

Castiel nervously rolled his shoulders with a shrug as he attempted to focus on the ever-passing scenery.

"Can any of your other brothers do that?" Dean asked. "Just cross the lines and be in both places at once?"

"No. Not to my knowledge."

"Cas … maybe trapping him in that vessel isn't about killing him and taking out Angel Radio. What if whoever did this is actually planning on using him to access Purgatory? And Hell? And whatever other realms he's tapped into? I mean, if your brother's got one foot in our world, another in Heaven, another in hell, another in Purgatory-"

"Selaphiel's true form does not have feet-"

"Beside the point, Cas. What I'm saying is that he's got simultaneous access to all these other places. Dude's a friggin' **multi-pass**! I mean, how many other people have that kind of power?"

"... very few."

"That much power and Sel doesn't even think about abusing it? Not even once?"

" _Humility_ , Dean."

"Good, because can you imagine what kind of damage Raphael or Metatron could have done if they'd found out a way to harness that?"

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 10: **You Can Make It to the Sunrise** }}_


	10. 10: You Can Make It to the Sunrise

Colors. So many vibrant colors of red, pink, orange, gold, blue, soft violet flooded the horizon, trickling into the sky and lacing the edges of cumulus clouds. A 1978 Lincoln Continental had stopped at a Gas-N-Sip, waiting patiently for its temporary driver to return from within the station. Its passenger, however, sat quiet and still with her seatbelt still fastened, though her gaze was locked on the sky.

Sam occasionally glanced through the shop's windows as he stood at the counter, assuring himself that the archangel was still in the passenger seat and safe. He remained casual as he paid cash, the rustling of plastic as a few items were procured and bagged.

"Munchies for the road?" the clerk asked with a friendly chuckle.

Sam smiled politely. "Sure. Been a long night."

"Road trip?"

"Uh, yeah. Something like that," he nodded.

In the car, Selaphiel tilted her head, attempting to get a better view of the sky from her seat, trying to see around the trees and powerlines … and the close proximity of her nose to the window caused a faint fog to form on the glass from her breath. Her lashes fluttered as she sat back a bit, watching the condensation fade over seconds. Curious, she leaned close again, parting her lips to exhale upon the surface and create a new fog … and she sat back again to watch it disappear. The third time, she reached up to lightly trace her fingertip along the glass, creating a line in the moisture. A child-like spark of intrigue and fascination flickered within her eyes, softening her expression.

Suddenly, the radio came to life, breaking the silence with static. Selaphiel's calm attention immediately jerked from the window to the illuminated dial, her eyes widening as she could make out various screams and pleas through the white noise and squeals of adjusting frequencies, the constant ringing of multiple tritones, the roars of agony that became clearer through the static and yet grew indistinct as more and more voices joined in the fray.

Instinctively, she attempted to switch off the radio, but the buttons and knobs did nothing. She tried again. And again. Nothing. So many languages, some not words at all, all of them crying out for help … and one voice, suddenly, a whisper above them all:

 _ **"Selaphiel ..."**_

Sam opened the driver-side door and immediately, all was silent, the radio dead once more. Taking his seat, he looked over to the angel, missing the distressed expression upon her face as she quickly turned away. "You hungry?" he asked as he lifted the plastic bag in suggestion. The look of confusion on her face prompted him to explain. "Okay, stupid question. I honestly don't know, really, because I know you're in a lot of pain, wasn't sure if you can even tell if you're hungry or not … or if you can even **get** hungry, because Cas doesn't … get … you know what? Here." He dug into the bag to retrieve two items, offering them to his celestial companion. "RC Cola and a Moon Pie. Breakfast of champions."

Accepting the drink and snack, Selaphiel held them and stared at them for several beats as Sam started the car and drove from the station, the shop's bell chiming as they left. Reading the labels, she commented softly, _"... this is not a very nutritious way to start the day …"_

"Nope, but Dean will argue that it is," he protested with a smirk. "You know what? If you don't like it, I'll eat it. Win-win."

The crinkling of plastic followed for a few beats as she opened the package then gave the treat a brief sniff … before taking a bite. Sam watched as she chewed slowly, watched as her brows lifted slightly in curiosity. At least she wasn't disgusted by it. In fact, he might surmise that she actually enjoyed it. He chuckled to himself then, shaking his head. "An archangel's first time in a human body, first thing he eats is a Moon Pie."

Still chewing, Selaphiel gave him a silent look of inquiry.

Smiling, he explained. "It's funny because it's unexpected." With a nod, Selaphiel turned her gaze to the window once more, watching the tops of the trees as they drove. When she took another bite Sam felt a little accomplished and smiled reaching for the radio to switch it on. "All right. Let's see what sort of station we can get in-"

But Selaphiel's hand quickly rose to press against the dash, blocking Sam mid-reach. _"Please. Not right now,"_ she whispered.

A bit stunned, Sam pulled his hand back to the steering wheel, brow knitting with concern. "You okay?" The shift in her gaze to the window told him otherwise, but he could abide by this; she clearly didn't want to talk about whatever this was. Assuming it was one of those tie-ins to her virtue of humility, he dropped the subject … but he didn't drop his concern, occasionally glancing over to her as she slowly ate that Moon Pie.

"Hey. Sel …?" he started with a careful hesitation. "You said I could ask you anything, so ... I have another question for you." She took another bite as she looked to the hunter, chewing while watching him. "When Metatron cast all the angels out of Heaven … what were you doing during that time?"

 _"My duty,"_ she answered simply.

"Angel Radio? You just … kept doing it?"

 _"Someone had to …"_ came her faded confession.

"How?" he asked, confused. "All the other angels, they were injured in the fall, had to take vessels, but you …? You didn't? You just … kept doing your job?"

 _"Could you please pull over?"_ she asked suddenly.

"What?" was Sam's perplexed response.

 _"Please?"_ she repeated as she looked to him again.

"Oh … okay." He did as was requested, pulling over to the side of the road, beside a field of wheat boarded by a large, old wooden fence. The land was flat, hardly any trees for miles, but the sky was large and in perfect view. The moment the car had stopped, Selaphiel climbed out and closed the door behind her, crossing several feet to the fence, stopping at the barrier and staring to the horizon. Turning off the engine, Sam quickly followed after and nearly spoke … until he realized just what had her attention … and the mild panic he felt melted into understanding.

"Got a thing for sunrises?" he asked as he stood at her side; her lack of response had been one he expected, so he let the silence fall between them for a beat … then watched as she climbed onto the fence to sit and watch the sky. He did not hesitate to join her, easily taking a seat next to the archangel.

 _"Each day is different,"_ she spoke, her tone soft and distant. _"… and it does not matter how terrible yesterday was … today is a clean slate. It is neither bad or good. A new beginning … and possibilities are infinite."_

Sam looked to her for several beats as a small and thoughtful smile faded onto his face. "That is … beautiful, actually," he finally replied, returning his eyes to the sunrise. "You're a very inspirational person. Anyone ever told you that?"

 _"No,"_ she answered honestly.

"You know ..." He shifted into a more comfortable position on the fence. "... back before I met Cas? I kinda had this image in my head. This image of of what angels would be like if they were real. And then I actually met some and … pretty much every single one of them was a dick, or wanted to kill me, or both … but … not you. You … remind me of what I imagined angels to be. And you … shook my hand." A weak smiled traced his lips as he added, "Without **any** hesitation. I wasn't expecting that." He shrugged a bit, not noticing the sadness in Selaphiel's gaze as she kept her focus on the sky. "I just … I wasn't expecting a lot of things, I guess. And meeting you? It almost feels like it's been reset, y'know? Back to what I believed before … everything. And it feels kind of … _good_ , actually." He paused a moment, looking to her for a beat before asking, "How is it you're so different from the other angels I've met?"

 _"When one spends a majority of his existence listening to others, he understands them better than most,"_ she explained gently.

Understanding, Sam nodded and shifted his gaze to the colorful clouds in the distance … then came to a realization. "People don't talk to you much, do they?"

 _"People talk to me all the time,"_ she replied truthfully.

"No, I mean, like … directly. Outside of orders and messages … people don't usually … converse with you. Do they."

 _"... no."_ Her response was scarcely audible.

"Are you really as much of a workaholic as Cas says?"

 _"Yes."_

"That sounds … really lonely, actually," he replied.

 _"I am used to it,"_ she murmured, scarcely audible.

Sam sighed sympathetically. "Yeah. That's one of the saddest things a person can ever say. _'I'm used to it'_." But Selaphiel did not offer any acknowledgement to his statement, instead watching the ever-changing colors of the morning sky, a mockingbird briefly streaking across her vision to disappear amid the wheat.

"Sel …" Sam began, her name drawing the angel's attention away from the sunrise and onto him. "When we get you out of there … you'll keep in touch, right?"

 _"Of course. I am always with you,"_ she said.

"That's really endearing, but I meant … you know … talking. Like this." The faint flicker of confusion and curiosity knitting her brow prompted the hunter to explain. "Not asking for help or following orders or delivering messages or anything like that, just … talking. Just you. And me. Hanging out. Like this. Just chatting. No obligations."

She stared at him in silence, then whispered. _"... okay."_

Sam smiled and echoed. "Okay." Returning his gaze to the horizon, he chuckled lightly. "Sunrise and moon pies."

…

…

…

Southern Washington was still blanketed by grey, the skies overcast from recent rains. Dean and Castiel walked the grounds, though the angel clearly had apprehension with each step, looking around warily. The hunter, on the other hand just sighed as they crossed another trail marker. "Would be nice to know exactly what it was we're looking for," Dean commented as he studied their surroundings. "You've been acting a little weird since we got here. Well, weirder than usual. You sense something?"

"Yes," Castiel said with a creased brow and a squint. "Everything. Everything about this place feels … _wrong_."

"Yeah, well, is that 'wrong' feeling any stronger in one particular direction?"

Castiel paused, slowly turning in a full circle to assess their situation. "It's like I'm in a fog. A very thick fog."

Dean took a few steps forward, then stopped as he caught sight of something on the tree near him. "Hey, Cas." The angel moved to his side as Dean motioned for Castiel to join him. "Look. Sigil. Doesn't that seem familiar to you?"

The angel leaned forward a little to get a closer look at the carving. "It looks similar to the Horn of Gabriel … the sigil Metatron used as a siren to lure angels into traps … but …"

"But?"

"It's incomplete," he explained, standing upright fully as confusion crossed over his expression. "Whoever carved it must have been unable to finish it."

"Someone trying to put out a distress call, you think? Maybe the same person who was having second thoughts and made the kinks in the cloak and chains."

"If they were unable to complete the sigil, then it is possible they were caught and could be presumed dead."

"Yeah, because a big and complicated operation like that seems like it'd be run by somebody who doesn't take kindly to double-crossers." He hissed through his teeth, looking to the sky. "Recent rain makes it difficult to track which direction this they came from. Not that we'd have much luck anyway considering all the foot traffic on these trails." He sighed.

"Dean," Castiel began with a knitted brow. "The Horn of Truth requires angel blood, griffin feathers and the bones of a fairy. This is only carved."

Confused, the hunter stared at the symbol. "Maybe whoever drew it didn't know that?"

"Or maybe it's a clue," the angel realized as he started down the path near the marked tree. "We're in the right place. This way." Dean followed close behind.

"Were they close?"

"Who?"

"Gabe and Sel."

"Very," Castiel confirmed. "Their level of synergy was one to be admired, how well they worked together. It is my understanding the Horn was created by them as a union of their power … one of the very few instances in our history when archangels combined their power."

"And I get the feeling that activating that Horn now would be a bad thing, or letting anyone know just what we're looking for here would be less than good, y'know, considering."

"I shouldn't be here …" Castiel said as he stopped in his tracks, uneasy. "It feels … very _uncomfortable_."

"Uncomfortable how?"

"Almost like … I am desecrating a grave. I keep feeling compelled to leave."

"Must be the angel warding," Dean suggested. "Rain worked in our advantage, I guess, maybe washed some of that away."

Suddenly, the voice of a woman called out from ahead of them. "Dean?!"

The hunter looked up to see two very familiar forms approaching them quickly.

" _Jody? **Claire**?_ "

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 11: **Shine On You Crazy Diamond** }}_

 _{{ **Author's Note:** Admit it. You are now craving an RC Cola and a Moon Pie. }}_


	11. Chapter 11: Shine On You Crazy Diamond

"Jody!" Dean called out as they approached the two women. "Do I even **wanna** know what you're doing here?"

"Would you believe me that we were in Seattle for some quality bonding time?" she asked with a squint as they met on the path.

"The music scene's amazing, okay?" Claire added. Dean didn't argue; in fact, he lifted his brows with an impressed expression of agreement. Nevertheless, the three of them exchanged quick hugs as Dean went on.

"Not that I'm not happy to see you ladies, but Seattle's a good five hours away. What are you _really_ doing out here?"

"Claire." Jody explained, nudging her thumb toward the girl. "She caught wind of some signs, thought we should check 'em out. Aaaaaand here we are. You know. Typical vacation."

The teen gave Castiel a quick upnod in greeting. "Hey."

"Claire," the angel replied with a nod of his own, only to be quickly met with a tight and lingering embrace from the girl.

"I'm glad you're okay," she confessed with a hushed whisper, truly relieved to see him as she let the hug linger for a moment as she continued. "This place gives off the weirdest vibe. It just doesn't feel right. There's sigils all over the place. And worse."

"Wait," Jody piped up as Claire finally released the angel. "Is this him?" she asked her, motioning to whom the sheriff considered a stranger.

"Ah, yeah," Dean interjected. "Sheriff Jody Mills, meet Castiel."

"Wow," the woman replied, half breathless as he shook the angel's hand; her eyes were practically alight with admiration. "I've heard a lot about you."

"It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Sheriff," Castiel replied with a firm grip and welcoming smile.

"Wish it could have been under better circumstances. Never is," she added.

"I've been praying to you for an hour," Claire interrupted hurriedly. "What took you so long?"

"Where's Sam?" Jody suddenly realized.

"He's babysitting an archangel," Dean replied.

"Oh," Jody said. "Is **that** all?"

"Yeah, well, the angel he's babysitting is kinda the one in charge of Angel Radio and this may or may not be the spot where he got zapped into his current vessel … so …"

"It complicates things a bit," Castiel mentioned.

"So you didn't bring them along," the sheriff surmised. "Good call."

"Even _ **I** _ am hesitant to step on these grounds," Castiel admitted.

"Yeah, well, I can see why. Angel in an angel trap."

"I'm glad you're here, though," Claire said as she dug into her pocket for her cellphone. "There's all these weird symbols everywhere. I mean, I've been studying, so I know some of these are at least warding sigils, but there's still some that I don't understand yet. I don't even think they're Enochian." Finding the images, she began scrolling through them so the angel could see. "I was gonna send them to you, but there's, like, zero reception out here."

"I recognize some of these," Castiel murmured, squinting a bit as Claire scrolled through the pictures of symbols carved into trees and stone, painted upon rocks. "These are the same symbols as Selaphiel's cloak. But Claire is right. Some aren't Enochian at all."

"Selaphiel?" Jody asked, brows arching with intrigue. "Archangel of Prayer Selaphiel? Protector of children? Presides over exorcisms?"

"Wait," Dean chimed in. "You know who he is?"

"Let's just say that since Claire came to stay with me, I've been learning a **lot** about angels."

"Yeah, well, Sel is Cas' big brother who's trapped in the man-made body of a woman."

"It sounds much less complicated when you put it like that," Castiel replied as he continued to scroll through the images on Claire's phone. "Where did you find these?"

"This way," Jody insisted with a tilt of her head to the north, indicating they follow her to the site. Dean joined the sheriff at her side while Claire walked along Castiel a few steps behind them.

"Soooo …" the girl began, perhaps a bit awkwardly as they walked along the path, "... big brother Selaphiel. I read about him. I mean, there's not much about him, but he seems like a pretty powerful, y'know, angel. Well, archangel, I mean …" She cleared her throat as she redirected her thoughts. "So … what's he really like? I mean, is he a doof like you? Kinda stuck up like you _used_ to be? A jerk like Tamiel was? Or … what?"

"He's … kind," the angel replied honestly after a moment of thought. "Quiet, but kind."

"Kind. Okay … I dig it."

"How have you been, Claire?" Castiel changed the subject; perhaps he was still a bit uncomfortable discussing his brother with others, as though the archangel was still listening in. But it was also because he had been curious as to the girl's well-being. They hadn't conversed in person since last meeting in Oklahoma …

"Great!" she said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically … though she was being honest. "I've been just great. I mean, Jody's great. And Alex is actually … she's pretty great. It's kinda like having an older sister … sort of. It's … it's great."

Castiel nodded. "Great."

The awkward silence only lasted for a couple beats between them before she added. "Nice tie."

"Thanks. Nice sword."

The girl's gaze shifted to the angel sword at her waist; mostly hidden by a custom-made sheath, but the hilt was certainly recognizable as belonging to the Grigori who had taken her mother's life. "Thanks," she replied with a mildly nervous smile. "For protection. Y'know. Investigating celestial signs and all. Thought it'd be good to come prepared. Just in case."

"Mm hmm," the angel replied with an arch to his brow.

"Hey, uh … if you're not too busy, I mean, since you're a soldier of Heaven and all … maybe later you could teach me some cool moves or something?"

Castiel gave her a curious stare for a few steps, then offered a small smile and nodded. "Okay."

"So. Quality bonding time in Seattle?" Dean asked Jody.

"Yeah," the sheriff began casually. "Alex has been looking at colleges. She's narrowed in on the University of Washington, of all places. Spending her Fall Break staying on campus. Though, honestly I think she was sold on it the moment we pulled up."

"Really? **_Alex._** A college girl," he commented with a light smirk. "They grow up so fast. One day, they're luring unsuspecting victims to vampire nests, and the next, they're off to college."

"U-Dub has a great LSJ program," she defended with an incredulous look.

"LSJ?"

"Law, Societies and Justice."

He chuckled. "She's goin' to **law** school?"

"She wants to be a public defender," Jody replied with a modest shrug.

"You're kiddin'. That's a step up from smokin' grass under the bleachers-" He stopped suddenly, attention deviating to their surroundings. "Whoa."

The beige and rocky ground had ring upon ring scorched upon the earth, creating what surely appeared to be a target from above, burned into the surface of the earth, every ring several feet in width and each circle larger and larger, spanning from what appeared to be the center, the remnants of what appeared to have been a large pile of dust, nearly washed away by the previous rains.

"Yeah," Jody remarked as the four came to a halt on the outside edge. "That's what I said. _Whoa_."

"Cas?" Dean urged as he looked over his shoulder to his friend. But Castiel's expression was one of confusion, more so than usual as he appeared to be looking everywhere but the rings in front of them.

"This is … bizarre …"

Claire scoffed. "And what's more bizarre than a bullseye burned into the ground?"

"Bullseye?" Castiel asked as he turned his attention to her.

"... you're kidding me. You **do** see it, right? It's right in front of you." She grabbed his arm, directing his attention toward the scorched earth.

"I don't see anything," he protested, shaking his head.

"Cas?" Dean asked.

"There is … nothing here," he replied. "Nothing at all. No earth, no rocks, no light, no … anything."

"... that's a frightening concept," the sheriff added. "Pocket of nothingness."

Claire shook his head. "The sigils must be working like some super angel camouflage or something."

"But he could see them on the phone, right?" Jody asked.

Dean snapped his fingers as an idea came to him. "Claire. You ever seen _Hell Hazers 2_?"

"What?" the teen replied with a scrunch to her nose. "That was a terrible movie."

"Yeah, well, you remember the camera phone thing?"

"Oh!" her eyes lit up as she whipped out her cell again. "Good call!" Activating the camera on her phone, she held it before Castiel so he could look, and as the angel took the device from her, his eyes widened as he could finally see what the other three saw.

Jody glanced around quickly as the angel became acclimated to their surroundings. "So why don't we find some of those symbols and scratch them up? Wouldn't he be able to see just fine then?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, but shook his head his protest. "Him and the other angels. But the last thing we need right now is to become a blip on their radar."

"What? I thought you guys fixed things up there. I thought angels were supposed to be the good guys."

"At least one of them is not," Castiel commented as he took careful steps forward, using the camera as a filter. The others followed suit, studying the ground closely. Dean walked between the scorch marks and found what appeared to be the edge of something metal protruding from the dirt.

"Cas." He motioned the angel over as he crouched to pull the piece from the ground, brushing the flecks of earth from its surface to reveal an engraved bronze medallion bearing the emblem of a tree with winding branches and roots that seemed to intermingle with each other. "Can you see this?"

The angel peered over his friend's shoulder, using the phone still as a lens with which to see. "It's Yggdrasil."

"Gesundheit."

"Yggdrasil?" Jody asked. "What's that?"

Castiel explained, "According to Norse mythology, Yggdrasil is the Tree of Life …"

"Didn't Gabriel masquerade as Loki for a couple thousand years?" Dean asked.

"I strongly doubt Gabriel has anything to do with this," Castiel disagreed. "He wouldn't do anything to endanger Selaphiel …"

"Yeah. And this definitely is not his style," Dean confirmed as he stood, continuing to look about. "He seemed pretty passionate about not watching his family die."

"Gabriel …" Claire started, brow scrunched with confusion, "the archangel … was **Loki** , the Norse god of mischief?"

Dean smiled apologetically. "Long story. I'll tell you later."

"... right."

"Hey, guys?" Jody piped up as she found another half-melted piece of alloy, half-buried in the earth several feet away from the group. She held it out to them, Dean's eyes widening as he took it from her grasp.

"I know this," he murmured, distance in his gaze … laced with just a tinge of sadness and pain. "This is a key to Oz … or what's left of a key to Oz."

"Oz?" Claire asked.

"Like Emerald City, Munchkins and the Yellow Brick Road kind of Oz?" Jody added.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "I thought there were only six of these in existence. And one of them was destroyed, so how did-?"

"Wait," the teen interjected. "Oz is a real place?"

"Oh, sweetheart, you're still learning." He shook his head and slipped both items into his pocket. "There's a ton of things out there you wouldn't believe."

"Oz? Norse gods?" Jody spoke up, slightly exasperated. "Angels? What's going on here?"

Castiel looked worriedly to the others. "Someone was clearly trying to destroy the evidence of whatever happened here."

"Cas," Dean spoke, "you said Sel's presence extended to many realms. Does that include the Nine Realms of Norse mythology?"

The angel thought about it for only a moment before nodding. "Yes. He did mention those worlds on occasion."

"And Oz? Does he have a presence in Oz?"

Still thinking, Castiel seemed to be peeling his mind for the memory. "It's possible, but I am not certain. It hasn't really come up in conversation."

"What are you guys talking about?" Claire asked.

"Humor me, Cas," Dean went on, "but let's just say … hypothetically speaking … Sel's energy or whatever was present in all these realms. Asgard, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Oz … who knows what else? That theory about using him to access all these other worlds is starting to look like like more than just a theory."

A beat of silence fell among the group and Jody's eyes widened before she sighed and just shook her head.

"That's it. Next vacation, we're going some place normal. Like Disneyland."

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 12:_ _ **I Won't Shed a Tear ...**_ _}}_

 _{{_ _ **Author's Note:**_ _To be honest, chapters 11 and 12 were originally one chapter … but after realizing just how long it would be (this is only about a third of what I had written), I decided to divvy it into two separate blocks. So here, enjoy a little filler until Chapter 12. }}_


	12. Chapter 12: I Won't Shed a Tear

Convincing Selaphiel to wear shoes was far less of a challenge than Sam had expected; given, she wore a simple pair of sandals, but at least it was better than nothing. They were certainly not wearing their "Sunday Best" as would be expected when attending church, but when it came to the congregation of Grace Cathedral, such a detail was considered minor and held no bearing on the message of the day.

Not to mention, the archangel seemed content enough simply to be there, to listen and observe; she did not seem to mind sitting in the back in the slightest. Sam did not explain his reasons for choosing this particular church in this particular city; perhaps it did seem odd they would travel nearly 4 hours simply to attend a service because Grace Cathedral had "a good choir" … but Selaphiel never asked; in fact, no one did. Sam seemed more pleased with himself when he saw how content the angel seemed, listening to the Very Reverend speak, to the choirs sing. She never said a word; she didn't sing along; she only held an expression of serenity as she sat quietly on the back pew.

When all was said and done, when the patrons were filing out and saying their goodbyes, lingering behind for socializing and the likes, Selaphiel wandered along the edges of the sanctuary and looked to the beautiful stained glass Windows of Grace … it was moments like that, seeing the child-like wonder on her face as she stepped into a tinted beam of light and paused-lifting her hand to slowly turn it within the colors of red and blue, green and purple-that Sam was reminded the archangel had never seen such things through mortal eyes, that Selaphiel had never perceived the world visually as he and Dean had, and such a thought made his head spin. Just how did Selaphiel and Castiel (and all other angels for that matter) experience the Earth when in their true forms?

He let the Angel of Prayer have her space, lingering behind as he witnessed the very regal posture with which Selaphiel walked; it was a graceful, elegant glide that also exuded strength; it wasn't quite the gait of a soldier, there was something different about it, something noble. Lost in an inner debate as to just what it might be, he heard his name chimed by a warm tone nearby.

The hunter turned to see the smiling face of the Very Reverend approaching him, and could not help but return the welcome. "Great to see you again, Dean Lipscomb."

"Oh, please. Call me Steve."

Sam chuckled as the two shook hands. "Great service."

"Well, thank you, Sam," the reverend spoke, his eyes kind. "It's been, what? Two? Three years since we've seen you last? What brings you back to our neck of the woods?"

"Oh, you know. Just passing through. Thought I'd stop by."

Steve was quiet a beat, giving Sam a knowing look. "Sam," he voices like a man who knew when another was holding back. "It's rare for men like you to stop by while 'just passing through' … unless something is going on. Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

With a nod, Sam knew better than to hide from the holy man, so he turned his gaze toward the woman in flannel and sandals. "It's my friend over there," he began. "He's … uhm, **she's** kind of … ah … going through a sort of tough time and I thought this would be, y'know, good for her. Kind of a nice … positive … _safe_ space to be for a couple hours, you know."

Dean Lipscomb lifted his brows curiously. "Is your friend in the sort of trouble that is the usual sort of trouble, or is this a different sort of trouble?"

"The, ah, _complicated_ sort of trouble," he confessed.

"I see," the reverend nodded. "Then this is a good place to be."

"Oh yeah. This is actually the happiest I've ever seen her, honestly," Sam smiled, watching the angel move toward a boy who could have been no older than twelve. The boy stood alone at the end of one of the front pews, appearing forlorn and blanketed with melancholy as he watched the choir setting up for the next service. Selaphiel paused at the end of his row, tilting her head slightly as she watched him curiously, perfectly still.

"Who's that kid?" Sam asked.

"Hm?" the Very Reverend turned his attention to the boy in question, then smiled sadly. "That's Anthony Wieland. He was in the children's choir, but his father died last month. Car wreck. It was tragic. Anthony was the only survivor and, honestly, it's a miracle he pulled through himself. His father was a good man. Just the two of them for a long time, but now … well, he has his grandfather, but … they just haven't clicked yet."

Anthony had finally noticed the woman standing beside him, suddenly jerking his head to look to her with wide eyes, staring for several beats with an expression that seemed near tears … when he suddenly reached forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face within her shoulder. Careful and calm, Selaphiel's arms folded over the boy's shoulders, holding him close and safe.

And for a moment, Sam could have sworn that he saw a shift in the sunbeams, movement of the dust specks fluttering through the air above and behind the angel; for a moment, he was reminded of the clouds when they first met, how they seemed to emulate wings … much like Castiel's had been shadows … but these? There almost seemed to be six of them.

The Very Reverend didn't seem to notice that, focusing more on the fact that the boy was hugging someone who seemed to be little more than a stranger to him. "Well … that's a pleasant surprise."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "She's full of them."

And perhaps the most fascinating surprise to Sam came as Selaphiel's lips parted, when she sang. Her voice was … he wasn't sure how to describe it; it was warm, soothing, gentle … and if he had ever known his mother as a child, he imagined that voice was what all mothers singing a lullaby must sound like …

 _"When the night has come … and the land is dark … and the moon is the only light we'll see,"_ she sang softly, lightly tracing her fingers along the back of his hair. _"No, I won't be afraid. No, I won't be afraid,"_ she continued as he lifted his head to look to look to her, _"just as long as you stand, stand by me. So darlin', darlin' stand by me."_

An older gentleman moved closer to them; one might have correctly assumed this to be the boy's grandfather, joining in to sing along. _"Oh, stand … by me. Stand, stand by me. Stand by me."_ As if on cue, those lingering with the choir joined in with harmonious "ooh's" as they continued, _"If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall. And the mountain should crumble to the sea."_

Anthony took a step back, breaking away from Selaphiel to have his shoulders embraced by his grandfather as three boys joined in to the song, swaying together. _"I won't cry, I won't cry. No I won't shed a tear. Just as long as you stand, stand by me."_

Selaphiel had ceased to sing; instead, her hand moved fluidly through the air, easily conducting the others as they continued to gather, to sing along, to move and clap in time … and Anthony, clinging to his grandfather and finally joining in as the chorus continued. A symphony of voices filled the sanctuary and the angel simply took careful steps backward, lightly brushing her fingertips along the shoulder of a man who continued to conduct in her place.

"This is … beautiful," the Very Reverend murmured to his guest.

"Yeah," Sam whispered in awe.

Selaphiel glanced back toward the group only once as she approached the hunter. _"I like Episcopalians,"_ she confessed softly to Sam, a gentle smile upon her features. _"Hello,"_ she greeted the holy man at his side, and Steve Lipscomb held a look of distant recognition within his own eyes, just for a moment. The reverend was about to speak when Sam took the angel by the shoulders and guided her toward the doors.

"Right. So. We should be going. Dean Lipscomb, always a pleasure. Thank you again," he insisted as he led Selaphiel away.

"Come back to visit anytime," the man insisted.

 _"I love your work,"_ Selaphiel whispered as they passed.

…

…

…

The Lincoln was again stationary; this time, it had made a temporary stop in the somewhat sunny and mostly barren parking lot of a craft store. And this time, when Sam re-entered the car, he immediately passed the plastic bag to his celestial passenger. "I read somewhere that red was your color on the spectrum, so … there ya go," he explained as she removed a skein of brick red yarn from the bag.

 _"Thank you, Sam,"_ Selaphiel replied with a genuine smile. Immediately, she pulled the knitting needles from the bun on her head, her hair falling down her back as she wasted no time focusing on casting on a row.

"You … really like knitting, huh?" Sam asked as he started the car, backing out of their spot and starting toward the road once more.

 _"Yes. It was a good idea, thank you."_

"You're welcome."

Selaphiel's hands paused a moment, gaze distant; she swallowed as her smile faded slightly; though it was tinged with sadness, the gesture did not lose the sincerity. _"And … today was a good day. Thank you for that,"_ she confessed quietly, honestly.

Sam took his eyes from the traffic only briefly, casting her a quick and empathetic glance. Nevertheless, he just nodded. She was, of course, welcome; though what he had experienced in Grace Cathedral was without a doubt Heavenly, he could not keep the conversation so light; it was a long drive back to Lebanon, and if he didn't talk about it …

"Y'know," he began, "I've … I've seen my share of angels in action before and I've gotta be honest. I've … **never** seen anything like that. What happened back at that church, I mean, that's … that feeling, y'know. Seeing you in there, with Anthony and the choir and just … that was …  something."

Selaphiel pressed her lips together tightly, suppressing a timid smile as she attempted to remain focused on her knitting.

Shaking his head, Sam recognize the modesty when he witnessed it. "You know it's okay to recognize the fact that you were at least _partially_ responsible for what happened back there."

The angel suddenly sat up a bit straighter, but did not look away from her project as she changed the subject. _"Eggs are symbols of new beginnings."_

"What?" Sam said with a confused cough, casting her another quick look. "Beg pardon?"

 _"Your dream,"_ the angel clarified. _"You said you found an egg covered in stars. Eggs are symbols of new beginnings."_

"Oh."

 _"Three hour drive back to your bunker, correct? Do you still wish to discuss your dream?"_

"Oh, uhm … sure. Yeah, I guess. Now's as good a time as any," he agreed. Selaphiel nodded once as she continued with her project, listening as Sam began. "So, yeah, I uh … I was on Devils Tower, like, on top of it."

The moment Sam uttered the words 'Devils Tower', Selaphiel's fingers faltered just slightly … but then continued on, as though nothing had happened; she continued to listen. "And there were these … shadows, rising from the ground and surrounding it. And I found this egg."

 _"You found an egg covered in stars on top of the Tower. Then what happened?"_ she urged.

"The egg opened and this … light … came out. And it vaporized them. The shadows. All of them."

The angel said nothing, but one could tell she was listening; just a feeling.

"I don't get it, though," the hunter commented, perhaps thinking aloud to himself. "I mean, I haven't had visions like that in years. Why now? You're, like, the soothsayer or something, right? Do you have a theory?"

 _"Are you still afraid of the dark, Sam?"_ she asked softly.

To him, this seemed like a sudden and unexpected question, causing him to steal a few quick glances to his celestial companion. Perhaps with a slight bit of discomfort, he confessed. "Maybe. What does that have to do with-"

 _"Are you aware of the legends surrounding Devils Tower?"_ she interrupted quietly.

"Uh … yeah, kind of. I mean, there's a lot of them. Most of them involve bears or wolves or … chasing people; basically, people trying to get away from something that threatens them and then praying to the Great Spirit for help." As he spoke the words, the realization trickled into Sam's mind. Without a word, he pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park, turning to face Selaphiel who briefly shifted her gaze out the window, confused as to why they had stopped. "They prayed for help," Sam announced, looking to her knowingly. "From the Great Spirit. Prayers had to be delivered somehow, right? Seems like just the kind of job for an angel of prayer."

Selaphiel refocused her attention upon her project, not saying anything.

"Stars are celestial bodies," Sam continued, "and angels are celestial beings. Makes sense." Selaphiel only knitted, not replying. "And you're going through a new beginning of your own, right? So … you're the egg!"

 _"I am the egg,"_ she echoed softly.

"You are the egg!" he said again.

 _"I am the walrus … goo goo g'joob."_

There was a beat of silence as what the angel had just said settled into his mind, and then … Sam broke into a small fit of laughter. "Did … did you just make a Beatles reference?"

Shifting her gaze from the laughing man to her knitting again, Selaphiel answered meekly. _"Maybe."_

Incredulous, the hunter spoke and stared at her in disbelief. "You like the Beatles."

 _"Yes …?"_ Seriously, why was that so difficult to understand?

Shaking his head from awe, he admitted, "Unbelievable. You are just full of surprises, Sel."

But this time, she didn't respond. This time, the needles and yarn fell from her grasp as her entire body seized, every muscle rigid as a jagged breath rocked her frame. "Sel?" Sam started carefully, reaching out for her.

The radio squealed to life, frequencies squawling with static, whispers, voices, screams of all languages and entities, words and sounds, music, lost memories …

"Sel!" he shouted at her over the noise, adjusting himself in his seat to grasp her shoulders as she flung herself into the door, the force of the impact rocking the Lincoln dangerously, moving it several inches to the right.

Another broken inhale, her eyes rolled back, her back arched. "SELAPHIEL! STOP!" Sam screamed as her knees jerked upward, feet pressing into dashboard for a kick so forceful it propelled the car forward several feet. Instinctively, Sam braced himself with the frame the vehicle.

"WHOA! WHOA!"

Selaphiel shrieked, shrill and agonizing as she kicked again, the car once again moving forward despite its parked status. Her body jerked within the seat, back pressing into it, fingers clawing mercilessly into the roof of the car. The radio roared louder as the Lincoln shook.

"SEL!" Sam shouted as he gripped her shoulders tightly. "SEL, SNAP OUT OF IT! SEL!"

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 13: **Take These Sunken Eyes and Learn to See** }}_


	13. Chapter 13: Take These Sunken Eyes

"Sel!" shouted Sam. It was unknown if the archangel could hear him; on top of the screams, squeals and static blaring from the radio, it was a wonder that Sam could even hear himself. The loud ringing had begun, the midday sun seemed to grow brighter and brighter as the noise grew louder and louder; it had reached the point that both light and sound were painful, not just to eyes and ears, but to his skin … as though burning through his skin and deep within his bones; every fiber of his being pleaded with Sam to stop, to get away from the angel, to step outside and run as far as he could … but he didn't.

He kept his grip firm upon Selaphiel's shoulders, no matter how much she writhed and shrieked, no matter how much the car rattled or how the windows cracked. Only a brief thought crossed his mind to call Castiel, to give the angel their exact location and tell him to hurry, but he worried he didn't even have time for that, or that he would be able to get the information out over the noise, or even that the phone would work in a situation like this.

"Selaphiel! **Please!** I don't know what's going on, but you have to hang on! Okay?" He grasped the sides of her head. "You have to **stop**!" What if she kept going? All this energy, someone would notice-the wrong someone might notice, the wrong someone might tell more wrong someones and then Selaphiel would be in very real danger. What was he thinking when he took her from the bunker? Mentally, he kicked himself for such a bad call; hindsight was 20/20 and he might have dwelled on it for a bit longer if he'd had the capacity to think; no, he couldn't afford to retrace his steps at this point.

What had they been talking about just before this happened? It seemed to come out of the blue. _Music_ , right? Selaphiel seemed like the musical sort; there had been much singing that day. Why not give it a shot?

The ringing grew louder; for a moment, it sounded like a distorted version of what he'd heard in his dream, as he had held the egg atop Devils Tower. Obviously, this was different; it wasn't harmonious tones he'd heard; this sounded … broken and dissonant; loud; out of sync … and it was reaching a point where Sam couldn't even hear his own thoughts.

Perhaps that was Selaphiel's problem (or at least one of them); it was Sunday, true, and while she had seemed at peace in the church, it was quite possible the Angel of Prayer had become overloaded with the influx of undelivered messages … that she couldn't hear herself.

"Sel," he began carefully, attempting some calm as he spoke firmly. "Listen to me. Listen to my voice, okay? Focus on **me**. Please. Just focus on me."

Again, the Lincoln shook with a jagged tremor, the rear window _cracking_. "Sel! Listen! Listen to me! Just to me! Just block out everything you can, and just … just listen to my voice!"

Blood trickled from his ears, leaving a trail of crimson along his lobes and neck. Sam could no longer bear to keep his eyes open, shutting them tightly from the brightness. Everything burned, everything was suffocating. But he had to keep talking, he had to give Selaphiel something to focus on …

"When I find myself in times of trouble … Mother Mary comes to me …" he began to sing shakily, taking a couple lines to get the melody right; when was the last time he'd sang something? Anything? "Speaking words of wisdom … let it be …" Selaphiel's fingertips again clawed at the roof of the car, but Sam grabbed them and forced them down, holding her arms tightly as he continued. "And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me … speaking words of wisdom, let it be …"

Sam coughed once, wincing from the pain of his ears, but he continued. "Let it be, let it be … let it be, let it be … whisper words of wisdom, let it be …"

Suddenly, everything was quiet.

Suddenly, everything was _still_.

Hesitant about the calm, Sam opened his eyes to find the angel silent and motionless. "Sel?" he asked carefully, lifting his hand to lightly tap at her cheek. "Sel, you there?" No response. She looked as though she was sleeping.

But angels don't sleep.

After staring at her for a bit, Sam returned to his seat, continuing to watch over her as he took the phone from his pocket, immediately dialing his brother. There was no ring, going straight to voicemail which began with "This is Dean's other cell …" Sam cursed under his breath, disconnecting the call before the tone and then rubbing at his face with a heavy sigh …

Selaphiel's eyes opened. The hunter snapped his head toward her as she inhaled sharply. "Sel! Welcome back."

She blinked, remaining silent.

"Sel, you okay?"

Her lips parted as though to speak, but she pressed them together once more, staying quiet.

"Okay. That was a stupid question, I guess," Sam answered himself awkwardly.

 _"Sorry …"_ she whispered weakly. Slowly, her hand lifted to touch his ear lightly, instantly healing the ruptured drums.

"Hey hey, no … no, I'm sure you couldn't help it. Don't apologize, okay?"

 _"But I used my power … someone felt it … we have to go …"_ she confessed as her arm fell limply to her lap once more.

"Okay. Back to the bunker-" he said as he started the engine again.

 _"No,"_ she protested quietly.

"No?"

 _"Devils Tower."_

"Like in my dream?" Sam asked. "You want to go to Devils Tower?" Her acknowledgement came in the form of a slow blink. "That's a day's drive from here. Why Devils Tower?"

 _"My staff."_

"Your … staff …"

 _"That is where I left it."_

Sam could not but give her an incredulous look. "You left your staff on **Devils Tower**?"

Sheepish, the angel replied, _"I probably should have led with that …"_

"Ya think?" he replied with an exasperated half-laugh.

…

…

…

Sitting on the trunk of his Impala, Dean removed his phone from his pocket, noticing the missed calls and texts from Sam. Eyes widening, he quickly dialed his brother and waited for the call to connect.

Somewhere in Nebraska, Sam Winchester and his celestial counterpart were sitting at a picnic table at a roadside vendor; the hunter nibbled on a grilled vegetable wrap while the angel sat wordlessly knitting. His phone buzzed and immediately, he set his meal into the cardboard boat and answered. "Dude. Where have you been? I've been trying to call you all day."

"Yeah, no reception out here," Dean explained.

"Did you find anything?"

"Oooooooh yeah. Found a lot of things. Needless to say, we definitely think this is the site Sel got zapped. It's totally angel proofed. Cas couldn't even sense it. Like it didn't exist. And what's more? The place is, like, totally leveled. _Scorched._ Looks like 1945 Hiroshima if you know what I mean. And there's symbols all over the place."

"Wow," Sam breathed.

"But there was this one path we found that was angel-proofed but … not as well. Sigils, sure, but just like the chains and the cloak, some of the symbols were typos."

"Must have been how Sel was able to escape."

"Exactly. The slightest change in the sigil will change the spell. And it was intentional, so I guess in a way its nice to know that someone on the other team is working for our side. Sort of." Dean glanced over his shoulder toward the sound of a _clink_. "Oh, and uh, kinda ran into a couple old friends."

Sam's brows lifted curiously. " **Good** old friends or **not** -so-good old friends?"

"Sheriff Mills and Claire."

Several hundred feet away, Claire stood with the hilt of her sword at waist level with her right hand and balanced with her left; at her side was Castiel, holding his angel blade in the same position. Jody was pacing a good distance away, talking on her cell phone, more than likely to Alex as the angel instructed the teen on the proper way to parry left, a very simple and basic technique.

"Take a step back," Castiel instructed as they went through the motions together, "pull your sword to about waist level in the turn … and you want to ensure the tip of your blade is directed toward your opponent."

"Okay," she nodded, going through the motion again.

"Same for the right. Parry right, you will want to take a step back with your right foot to turn to the right …" He paused to adjust her sword at the wrist. "You want your blade to be turned up. You notice the triangle shape, there are three sides." He touched each with his fingertip. "Three edges," he motioned to the sharpened part of the blade. "Block with blunt. Strike with sharp."

Back at the Impala, Dean's conversation with his brother continued. "How's he doin', by the way?" the older hunter asked, perhaps a little softer; all the things he had learned about Selaphiel in the last 24 hours had helped him to understand the archangel a bit more … and in all honesty, he'd started to empathize. "He hasn't tried to, y'know, play **Operation** on himself again has he?"

"Oh, no … no no," Sam protested, clearing his throat. "Nothing like that. He's uh, he's hanging in there." He glanced to the knitting angel. "He had one of his overloads, but he's still in one piece. Still quiet. Still … _knitting_."

Selaphiel glanced up briefly, arching a curious brow before redirecting her attention to the yarn and needles in her lap.

"Awesome," Dean replied. "I expect the most ugly-ass Christmas sweater by the time we get back."

"About that," the younger brother began, his words nearly drowned out by the sound of a passing semi truck on the street.

Confused, Dean's brow scrunched. "Wait ... are you outside? Why do I hear traffic?"

"It's … kind've a long story …"

"Where are you?"

Sam scrunched his nose in hesitation. "... Nebraska?"

" **What**."

Back in Washington, Claire gave a thrust forward with her sword. "Good," Castiel said. "You will want to keep your sword close to you. Don't hold it out too far when you parry or you'll leave yourself vulnerable to attack."

"Got it."

"Now, other good defensive moves are the drag and lift," he continued. "To drag, take your left foot … and step out …" She followed along with the motions, mirroring him. "As you're stepping, instead of keeping your hands at the waist, you will be raising to the level of your head, good … and with this, you start with blocking using the blunt edge … but as you are lifting it, turn your wrist slightly and keep the blade pointed slightly down … and that way, the sharp edge can then … cut … into the arm of your opponent."

"You're serious? I could chop off a guy's arm with this move?"

"That's the idea."

"Cool."

"You're taking an archangel to Devils Tower?" Dean blurted out amid his phone conversation, half amused. "Dude, the irony is _killing_ me."

"Very funny," Sam replied.

"You know. I could just tell Cas where the staff is and save you guys the trip. He could just zap in and get it."

"Unfortunately, it's not that easy," Sam sighed.

"It never is," Dean grumbled.

"Sel's got it warded against all angels but himself."

"Smart move," Dean remarked with an impressed arch of his brows and nod of his head … not that his brother could see through the phone.

"So do you feel up to making a detour to Wyoming?"

"Sure. You're having dreams about Devils Tower and otherworldly beings. Totally giving off this _Close Encounters of the Third Kind_ vibe, you know?"

"... what?"

"Nothin'," Dean waved it off with a smirk. "You promise not to try anything 'til we get there, right?"

"Absolutely."

"All right. Meet up tomorrow."

As Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket, he didn't notice the brief glint of reflected sunlight against the glasses of a tall, slender figure watching from the distance.

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 14: **Have We Fallen Too Far to Rise?** }}_

 _{{ **Author's Note:** Have you ever been writing an outline and you start to get carried away and carried away with a lot of great ideas that you get so far ahead ... but then you look back on where the story is currently published and you're like ... "I still have to write all of that to get to where the outline is" ... and you're just like ... siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. The good news is: I've got PLENTY of story left, with lots of fun twists and turns and angst and action. The bad news is: I got a LOT of writing to do. Please, bear with me! }}_


	14. 14: Have We Fallen Too Far to Rise?

**Sundance, Wyoming.**

Rest was necessary for the living. Sam Winchester could only continue driving for so long until his body finally came to a point that he needed to recharge. Shortly after midnight, a room at the Bear Lodge Motel was inhabited and the exhausted hunter who now slept still upon one of the beds. Perhaps it was out of habit that he checked in to a double room, momentarily forgetting that angels do not, in fact, sleep … but there was always the concern in the back of his mind that Selaphiel could have another of her 'overloads' and might require rest as well. In fact, he had hesitations about sleeping at all.

But somehow, he managed amid the golden glow of the bedside lamps. Perhaps there was something comforting in the angel's presence as she sat at the head of the other bed, the occasional _'click'_ of her needles almost too quiet to hear. One might think it would be difficult to find ease in such a scene, but Sam didn't question just how comfortable he felt; it never once registered to him that this scenario would be considered weird even in the slightest.

So he slept. And nearly an hour after the hunter drifted into dreamland, Selaphiel calmly finished a row and set her needles aside and moved from the bed. She still had plenty of yarn, but this time, she had another agenda as she reached for Sam's cell phone, soundlessly plucking it from the nightstand as he continued his quiet breaths of slumber. Cradling the device close to her chest, her bare feet led her to the door and outside where she climbed onto the Lincoln's trunk, toes contouring to the curve of the bumper.

Carefully, she unlocked the phone, scrolling through the contacts and pausing briefly to glance back at the door to the room, as though reassuring herself that Sam continued to sleep soundly. Her eyes returned to the display as she lightly tapped one of the listed names and lifted it to her ear.

One ring. That was all it took.

"Sam?" asked Castiel's familiar voice.

The archangel's lashes fluttered briefly at the incorrect address, though it was expected considering the fact she was using the hunter's phone. What was more bizarre to her, at least, was the fact that Castiel didn't know who was truly calling him. This was a situation Selaphiel had never faced before and was thereby at a loss for words, staring blankly ahead.

After a couple beats of silence, the realization settled within Castiel. "Selaphiel?" he asked carefully.

How odd that he had to ask. The archangel's brows arched and furrowed at the strangeness of the moment. A very soft whisper escaped her lips. _"Where are you?"_

Castiel could hear the overwhelming sadness in his sibling's voice. "Laurel, Montana. Where are you?" That question sounded so foreign coming from his own tongue, no matter the language. Something he'd never had to ask before; he'd always known.

 _"Bear Lodge Motel … Sundance, Wyoming …"_ she replied.

Not even one second passed and the familiar sound of rustling wings could be heard, and her brother sat still at her side, mimicking Selaphiel's posture. With synchronized movements, the two angels slipped their respective phones into their pockets and folded their hands upon their laps, staring ahead and not looking to each other. Not yet.

"Why do they call it a **'lodge motel'**?" Castiel asked with a slight tilt of his head. "Isn't that redundant?"

Selaphiel did not respond to his question, knowing full well that it was meant to break the awkward yet comfortable silence between them; instead, her gaze simply shifted to the dry asphalt. After a beat, she finally murmured, _"... sorry about your car ..."_

The younger angel arched a brow and glanced over his shoulder to the cracked windows of the Lincoln, then sighed slowly as he faced forward again, not seeming fazed in the least … at least, not by the physical damage. Instead, his brow creased from worry at just what had caused such a state. "How are you feeling?" he asked, changing the subject as he was more concerned for the well-being of the archangel than that of a machine.

Again, she didn't answer, only sitting quietly at her brother's side and bowing her head without a word.

"Are you okay?" Castiel pressed. "I mean, obviously you're not okay, but … given the circumstances …" His voice faded, words lingering on the air, unfinished. Selaphiel swallowed once and closed her eyes. Castiel's lips pressed together as his gaze melted into that of a desperate and lost child. "... talk to me?" he gently pleaded. This was not a request he often made of Selaphiel; in fact, he couldn't recall the last time he asked the archangel to speak to him.

Selaphiel's lips parted briefly as her eyes reopened to glance sadly to her brother; her expression was one of repressed pain and mourning. She quickly looked to the ground once more, several beats of silence passing before she again spoke. _"I still … hear … everything …"_

Castiel leaned forward to watch her with an empathic gaze, sympathetic as she continued. _"... still receiving … and …"_ She drew a trembling breath. _"I can hear … **them** …"_

"Hell?" he asked sadly.

She offered a solemn nod in confirmation. _"Among … others."_

Castiel straightened his posture a bit; sometimes, he forgot about the many other worlds beyond those to which he'd been charged. "You can't tune them out?" he suggested; the way she shook her head in silent reply, however subtle the movement, told him that she was not without trying. "I'm … sorry, Selaphiel."

Again, she closed her eyes and bowed her head; perhaps what caused more worry within the younger angel was the way she clasped her hands ever tighter, her already pale knuckles whitening even more within the grip. After a moment of hesitation, he finally stated. "You're scared."

Ever honest and humble, Selaphiel nodded once in reply. _"I believe in you,"_ she confessed with quiet sincerity. _"And I believe in the Winchesters … but … there is still a chance I … may not survive this. You and the others must prepare for what will happen when I am-"_

"No, Selaphiel," Castiel said suddenly, quickly moving from the trunk to stand in front of her, face to face. "We are **not** doing this. You will **not** die."

 _"If I do-"_

"You **won't**." He was adamant about this. Everything about his posture, his demeanor, the firm confidence in his voice, told Selaphiel that Castiel was tenacious and firm in his belief … in his Faith … that she would survive this, that this was only a temporary setback. "We **need** you."

 _"I know,"_ she whispered as she lifted her gaze to meet his pleading and cerulean eyes, her own lined with tears. _"And that is why I am so afraid of failing …"_

 _{{ To be continued in Chapter 15: **All Along the Watchtower** }}_

 _{{ A **uthor's Note:** There was originally **much** more to this chapter (well over 3,000 words), but this is why I love writing outlines for myself; once I reach a certain point, I read over notes for chapters I haven't yet written and I ask myself "is that really necessary?" then trim the excess. And this is what you get. Enjoy the short angst! }}_

 _{{ **P.S.** The title of this chapter was brought to you by the band Tyr and their awesome Norse Rock track "By the Light of the Northern Star". Give it a listen and rock out. }}_


End file.
